The Stars We Dreamed Of
by S.K.Evans
Summary: Tifa dreams of the day she won't have to hide who she is. Cloud does his best to survive in a city that wants him dead. One wants freedom; one seeks revenge. Both wish for a better world. As time runs out, they must fight for change and win to survive. But in the end, the merciless shadow of Midgard devours all.- Sci-Fi/Dystopia AU
1. Chapter one

**A/N:** Hello everyone!

Never thought I'd be back on this site with a multi-chaptered story, yet here we are. This time we're in for a dystopian/scifi/action/romance mix. Action would have been more appropriate as a second genre, only it's not available, so what can you do.

That's all, I hope you will like this!

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

—

1

—

The pulsing beat of the underground reverberates through Cloud as he waits for his turn to fight. The music, the yells, the cheers—they all swirl together into white noise. A big crowd like tonight's means more money, and he can usually tolerate being pushed along the sea of bodies for a bigger cut. But tonight—tonight is a little different. His mako dose ran out as he entered the building. Stupidly bad timing on his part, he'll admit it; he's usually better than that at planning. His first instinct had been to call Aerith, but she hadn't answered. He had spent the following ten minutes getting ready, pacing and trying to calm down. Now, his turn is coming up and he still doesn't feel in complete control. He sits down, regulating his breathing—in, out, in, out. His knee won't stop bouncing. It's lucky no one else is in here with him; he's typically collected before a fight, and this nervous attitude would have put a target on his back. Well, a bigger target.

He raises his head when someone comes in, trying to appear unruffled. Jeff doesn't close the door behind him.

"You're up in five," is all he says, turning to head out.

"Wait, Jeff." Cloud waits until the organizer is facing him again. "Could you—uh, could you tell me whom I'm up against?"

Jeff frowns and his puzzlement is answer enough. "You know I can't say. Can't give one of you the advantage."

Cloud nods. He'd expected it, but still…Damn it. "Yeah. Yeah, thought so. But thanks."

He gets up, quickly checking the taping on his hands one last time. The door closes but Jeff is still inside.

"You've never asked that before."

Sighing, Cloud settles on a half-truth. "Stuff's happened and I'm distracted tonight. I thought it could help me focus." He shrugs.

Jeff looks around, evidently hesitating, before simply saying, "You're up."

Well, Cloud thinks as he follows him out of the room and inside the main area, it's not like he didn't try. All he has left to do is make sure not to break his concentration. But the packed and boisterous crowd only fuels his anxiety and the doubts that were swarming in his stomach crawl up his throat. If he loses control…not only would he reveal himself, but all these people would be injured. He avoids the eyes of the spectators, focusing on regulating his breathing. He can do this. He hasn't been escaping the authorities for years only to be brought in because he can't fucking _focus_.

The cheers grow as he steps into the ring formed by the people. He's been doing this for over a year now, and he has a small following amongst the regulars; his recent winning streak might have something to do with that. He musters a small smirk for the sake of the public, but it's mostly to mask the leftover nervousness. He can do this. He's gonna win. And as he sees his opponent appear, he almost laughs. Yeah, he's gonna win.

McKenna steps into the ring. Cloud hasn't fought this mountain of a man before, true, but he's witnessed some of his fights, and he is exactly the kind of opponent he needs tonight: slow and without skill. McKenna relies solely on brute force—one punch from him would knock Cloud out cold, but all he has to do is not get hit. Easy.

A mandatory weapon check is performed by Jeff after he announces this match's fighters: Fair versus McKenna. No fancy titles, just false names. Satisfied, Jeff steps on his podium—an upturned crate, really—and calls the start of the fight.

Well, Cloud wouldn't call this a fight. McKenna immediately comes at him, making him step back and sideways repeatedly. Cloud keeps on dodging, circling around McKenna until he can see the big guy start to breathe unevenly. Showtime, then. Cloud lets him get closer and pretends to falter for a second. McKenna buys the act, stepping right in front of him, rearing his arm back for a powerful punch—and doesn't see Cloud's leg dart out in a precise kick aimed right for his kneecap; doesn't see the following upward jab that shatters his nose.

The cheers are deafening. First blood typically does that. They drown McKenna's pained yells and Jeff's call to end the match. Cloud smirks for real this time as he watches McKenna being escorted out of the ring; he'd been worried for nothing. He feels the tendrils of power safely recede deep within him. He's fully in control again.

Jeff proclaims him the winner, and as always, Cloud ignores the way his heart twists at the sound of the crowd chanting his alias. He pushes through them, making his way back to the fighters' room. He hates lingering and doesn't care to bathe in the aftermath of his victory; that's never been his style. People approach him but he ignores them. He just wants to get home.

The door shuts quietly behind him; it doesn't fully mute the noises, but at least it makes it bearable. His head is pounding. He takes his time changing, carelessly shoving his stuff into his backpack. As he feels his week's exhaustion catch up with him, he's glad he'd only asked for one match tonight. The money would have been nice, but he's doing alright for now. He'll take the semi-peaceful evening over three fights in one night.

Two newcomers are at it when he exits the room; he veers right and takes a corridor reserved for participants. His phone rings in his pocket as he nears the mouth of the hallway, and he's about to take it when he spots the man leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette. In his early forties, looking a strange mix of clean-cut and scruffy—Cloud faintly recognizes him as a regular here. Ignoring him, Cloud passes by. The phone has stopped ringing. It was probably Aerith calling him back.

"Hey, kid."

Cloud stops. He turns his head slightly to look at the older man but doesn't say anything.

"You might want to rethink that winning streak."

"Not my fault you're wasting your money," Cloud replies in a monotone. He doesn't have the time for this kind of crap.

The man makes a sound between a laugh and a snort. "And he's got an attitude. Kid, I'm saying this for you. It's attracting unwanted attention."

Cloud blinks. "You don't say."

He resumes walking for the exit. Behind him, the man swears and grumbles, but doesn't add anything. Cloud fiddles with his phone as he climbs the immense staircase leading outside; it was indeed Aerith who had called him, but he doesn't call back, figuring it's useless since he'll be home in twenty minutes at most. When he emerges from the underground, it's into the usual grey and neon world. Same old, same old, he thinks bitterly. From its streets to its buildings to its walls to its sky, Midgard is made of smoke and charcoal—the only colours come from the flashing billboards and scrolling governmental propaganda. He misses the blue of the sky, the white of the stars. They're nothing but a distant memory now, from when he was a child living in the neighbouring Shinra-owned mass-production farms. Well, it's all the past—he has to remind himself sometimes. There are days where he's not sure if having known the outside world is a blessing or a curse, but dwelling on it brings him nothing, really, so he swallows the acidity of his memories.

Debating which path to take tonight, he checks the news on his phone. No blockades in either Sector 6 or 7 tonight. Good. That means he can walk home instead of taking the train, which has recently had a higher chance of interception. Not to mention that Sector 6 and 7 have one of the lowest-security checkpoints, which he couldn't be happier about. People are allowed to simply come and go as they will. It's far less trouble after all, and the officers assigned to these Sectors adhere to the less-is-more philosophy in all they do.

Still, he keeps vigilant the whole time, tensing a tiny bit as he crosses the checkpoint (he always does, he can't help it). As usual, the two officers are playing a card game, raising their heads once in a while. Cloud has mastered the art of appearing just the right amount of nonchalant in public; he didn't have a choice to keep on living in this city. No one looks at him twice as he breezes through the gate, but he still releases a sigh once he's a few feet into Sector 6. Not that anyone would be able to tell the difference between the Sectors if there wasn't a gate. It's the same drab world laced with poverty and crime. All the same, it's better than his old home in Sector 4.

He's almost home when he hears the tell-tale whistle of a raid, followed by stomping feet. Cloud's reflexes are what save him from being barrelled into; he moves to the side, hugging the brick wall behind him as the soldiers rush past in a run. Outwardly, his reaction his mild and has more to do with almost being trampled; it's the reaction a normal citizen would display. But his insides have turned liquid, his heart threatens to explode, and his brain goes through all the possible slip-ups he could have made today. That's when he notices the homeless man jump to his feet and bolting, and hears the soldiers shouting at him to surrender.

Cloud sees it clearly, the moment one of them reaches for the gun holstered to his thigh. As though time has slowed, he sees the soldier come to a stop, slide down on one knee, and take aim. And Cloud thinks—he thinks that he should do something, that he should help the homeless man, that he shouldn't be a bystander because goddamn it, that could be _him_. It's a fleeting thought, one he's had very, very often; this isn't the first scene of this kind he's witnessed. But like all the previous times, Cloud stays where he is, watching the bullet lodge itself into the man's leg, watching him go down, watching the soldiers pin him down, just watching, watching, watching—

He needs to snap out of it, and quickly. Arrests like these are also a way to scope out sympathizers and other Carriers; there's always someone observing from the shadows, spotting the people whose reactions are too telling. So he copies the other citizens around him, keeping on walking, head lowered, eyes focusing anywhere but on the crying man. Ignoring the painful burning in his chest. He's always wondered, ever since he came into his powers, what the nature of his sympathy is. Does he pity the Carriers who get caught? Does he, truly? Or does he only fear that their fate could be his? And as he moves away and the man's yells linger in his ears, he really wishes it could be the first option, but he's afraid it has always been the second one.

—

The church he lives in is old and in a bad state, but he wouldn't trade it for anything. Aerith stumbled upon the building a years ago and they've since then made it and the tiny adjoined apartment their home. Every time someone they know sees it, they get a joking damn-how-did-you-here, and their answer is to smile and laugh. Because the how-did-they-get-here is painful to think about and they don't discuss it; they'd both rather escape from it. It's been years and yet it's still a bleeding wound. So they dance around that topic, sometimes fight about it, even blame each other for it. But they don't _talk_ about it.

Aerith is in the main room when he enters, mending one of her skirts. It's bright and dark inside; the multiple lights from the street cast endless shadows in the corners. Most of the pews are missing, pillaged or smashed, and they've shoved them all on one side. On the other, they've put up a table, some chairs and a couch they salvaged from an alleyway. The apartment in the back of the building is so small that they don't have the space for a living room, so they made do.

"Hey," he calls out as a greeting, dropping his bag and jacket on the couch, and then falls on it, drained.

Aerith is frowning, but she keeps focusing on her sewing. Cloud rolls his eyes. Typical.

"I was on my way home when you called back."

She squints in false concentration, and he's tempted to play her game, but he grunts and lets it go instead. He can see that his lack of answer unnerves her; it takes her over a minute to break her silence.

"I didn't know what had happened to you." As always, her voice is light, void of anger. There was a time where it drove him mad, but he's used to it now.

"Didn't see the point in calling back." He sprawls on the sofa, leaning his head back, eyes closed.

"From my point of view—"

"I don't need to hear your point of view, I know what it is." She's only told him about a thousand times.

He hears her huff, annoyed that he's interrupted, and he thinks she'll keep on when he feels her sit next to him. He turns to look at her.

Aerith is beautiful, all chestnut curls and jade eyes, soft smiles and mischievous laughter, fierceness and compassion. He remembers the day they met; the way he blinked in awe at the young girl with the long braid who stopped to talk to him; the warmth of her hand when she grabbed his and pulled him up and out of the alley he considered home. He also remembers when their lives crumbled like a card house; the depth of her sorrow and the intensity of her screams; the disappearance of her trademark felicity and the amplification of her fears. If he remembers, so does she, and he wishes he could be alone in carrying this distress.

As she rests her head on his shoulder, he relents. No point in acting like a crossed child.

"Sorry."

Aerith hums, accepting his apology. "Why did you call? Didn't you have a fight? Did you win?"

"Alright, Sunshine, slow down. Of course I won."

"Of course," she laughs. "Great timing, I could use a new dress."

Cloud shrugs. "I'll wire you the money after I get it from Jeff tomorrow."

"You know I'm kidding, silly." She slaps his arm.

Yeah, he knows, but he still, as he glances at the worn skirt she was mending, he makes a mental note to drop by her favourite store at the end of the week.

Aerith's grip suddenly tightens on his arm, and he knows what is coming next. "When is your next dose?"

"Uh, should have been an hour ago."

He can read the outrage on her features, plain as day, which, to be fair, he can't really be upset about.

"Are you an idiot?" Disappointment colours her airy voice. She doesn't need to list what could have happened. They're both too aware of it.

"Yeah, yeah."

Aerith usually doesn't insist; she makes a displeased comment, frowns and gets over it. But he knows _that_ date is fast approaching, and so he knows that she won't let it go today. And she doesn't.

"Cloud, you can't _fight_ without the mako! It's too dangerous. Next time, just walk out."

"There won't be a next time," he promises.

Her nails dig into his skin where she still grips him. "You _don't know_ that. You've always relied too much on luck, even back then. They did, too, and look what happened."

"Aerith," he warns.

"I just want you to be safe. Six years ago you—"

"Six _years_ ago, Aerith. Things have changed."

She finally releases his arm and gets to her feet, her body tense. Cloud is silent as she goes in search of the mako they've hidden in the back of the church. When she comes back, her demeanour exudes exasperation. Her movements are abrupt and formal as she prepares the syringe. Sighing, Cloud rolls up his sleeve. He hates it when his dealer runs out of pills and he has to inject the drug instead. Needles just aren't his thing, not to mention that they leave marks that could identify him as a Carrier. But Aerith is right, he thinks as the mako's effects run through him; his control over his powers is too shaky to risk going without. As always, the sensation of being defenceless overwhelms him as he feels the waves of energy recede within him until they're all but gone.

Lowering his sleeve, he flexes his hand; nothing happens. Yeah, his powers are suppressed for the next 48 hours. He can relax now. Aerith keeps to herself as she goes to put the box back to its place. This is why they don't talk about the past.

"Aerith," he calls out. No answer. "Sunshine," he says, voice soft. He hears her stop fidgeting. "I promise to be more careful."

Her footsteps are quiet as she walks back towards the couch, halting on the other side of it. Cloud twists around to face her. Her eyes are vacant.

"You can't be caught, Cloud." She blinks and suddenly, she's choking back tears, and he knows exactly what is going through her mind. "You can't die. Not you too."

As he gets to his feet and hugs her, as she cries on his shirt and breathes shakily, Cloud thinks of the day they met and of what came after. He thinks of the immensity of her strength, of her resilience, and of how it vanished in an instant. He thinks of the way of the flames reflected in Aerith's eyes as she watched their world collapse. He regrets many things, but his uselessness that day six years ago most of all.

He strokes her hair as she calms down. "Go to sleep, Sunshine."

She shakes her head.

"Go to sleep. It's late and you have to be up early."

The fight goes out of her; she pushes away, clearing her throat, wiping at her cheeks.

"Alright." She straightens her spine, making an effort to look composed, but the shine of her eyes give her away. "You know I trust you."

"Yeah." If there is one thing he's sure of, it's that they'd do anything for the other. "So believe me when I say I'll be careful."

Aerith nods, finally reassured. "Okay. Love you," she says as she kisses his cheek.

He gives her a small smile. "I love you, too. Now get your ass to bed."

The feeling that overtakes him as he watches her disappear into the second-floor apartment is a strange mixture. There's anger, yes, but also sadness and regret and resignation. It's a debilitating feeling since he can't do anything about it. There's nothing he can do to fix this, and to be honest, he's not sure where he would begin. Getting them out of Midgard would be a start, but that's an impossible dream and they both know it. It's a running joke between them, one that only gets sadder as they get older.

Cloud lays down on the couch, exhaustion catching up with him. The lights from the adverts outside flash on the walls, and he can sense them behind closed eyelids. The noise from the never-ending nightlife is sharp, loud, but he's used to Midgard's lullaby after all these years. He's used to too many things. And as he suddenly remembers moonlight and the dark tranquility of night, he decides that, yeah, his memories of the world _really_ are a curse.

—


	2. Chapter two

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

—

2

—

The soldier finishes gearing up as the others talk. Their movements are unhurried, their chatter unending. His movements are quick and sharp, and his silence unbreakable. They head out in less than five minutes and he's the only one ready to go. Still, he double checks everything, not wanting to be caught by surprise during a raid.

"Those fuckers bombed another one."

"Where?"

"Sector 3."

"Little shits. They're starting to get bold."

Yes, the soldier thinks, the terrorists that have been plaguing Midgard believe themselves to be daring and brave, but he knows they are merely impudent. It's only a matter of time before Shinra Corp smashes them like a bug. They are already being hunted, and soon the trigger will be pulled.

"Did we get instructions for the Carrier raid? I dozed off."

"Seriously? He said no arrests tonight. Shoot on sight after identification. Don't give them time to act."

"Ah, shit, poor bastards. Well, better luck in the next life, I guess."

"There's no next life for people like that."

"You're right, you're right."

The soldier hears the others chuckle. He doesn't. He checks his gun twice.

"This Carrier chick we arrested the other day, she was kinda hot."

A sound of disgust. "What, you'd sleep with that?"

"Well, no, but, I mean, I can still _appreciate_."

The soldier doesn't like the others' bickering. The sound of it grates on his nerves. He slams the door to his locker shut. A hush falls between his two comrades, and he regrets the impulsive move. Now, these two gossips will take him for a sympathizer. Thankfully, he's saved by the Captain's arrival and order to move out. They climb into their transport for the night and drive towards the raid's location, meanwhile looking over the list of identified Carriers. They have a high quota for tonight.

Better get started.

—

She runs.

In her dreams, she runs under a bright blue sky, in an infinite field of grass, and she runs, runs, runs and never gets out of breath. The wind sings in her ears and whispers her name.

But here—here the ground is hard and dirty and wet, the sky is hidden, and there is barely any wind, only the recycled air of the city.

Still, Tifa runs.

It's Barret's fault, really. He's told her endlessly, ever since he found her on the streets, that she needs to focus. Getting into a habit is key, he always says, roughly and meanly but with a good heart. It's the way he says everything if she's to be honest; people who just meet him often leave with a terrible first impression.

All around her, the artificial lights' intensity increase; a tell-tale sign that the sun has set. If she squints at the sky, she guesses she _could_ maybe see it go down through the pollution and the clouds, but she gave up on that a long time ago. Sector 7 is all shades of grey, only varying on the time of day. She does enjoy her visits to the richer Sectors for the variation in colours.

She checks her watch as Barret's bar comes into view, congratulating herself on being right on schedule. There's enough time for her to take a shower before beginning her shift. It's Biggs, the newest member of the 7th Heaven team, who's behind the bar when she comes in. The only two customers are regular drunks at their respective tables. Biggs whistles as she crosses the room, and Tifa has to abstain from rolling her eyes.

"You look good for someone who went running. Wait." He squints. "You don't _actually_ go running, do you?"

"Sure, Biggs, if you say so."

She ignores his grumbling as she unlocks the door leading to the apartments above. She goes up the stairs, a little surprised when she sees Barret waiting in front of her apartment's door.

"What's this, an ambush?"

He ruffles her hair while frowning. "Why would I do that?"

Barret is made of contradictions, looking like a fellow who'd beat you to death in a dark alley while having the biggest heart Tifa has ever seen. Well, she has to concede that he could still beat someone to death if the need arose.

She swipes at his hand, not wanting him to tangle her hair. "Then why are you waiting for me?"

"I just heard you come up as I was about to head down." He sighs. "Just wanted to remind you about tonight. It's important that you come."

It's her turn to frown. "Yeah, I know. I'll be there."

"Alright, kiddo. Then I'll see you tonight," he says, walking off.

Tifa watches him for a second. "Weird," she mumbles. Well, she thinks, she'll see what this was about later. Dismissing Barret's attitude from her mind, she gets ready for work. She takes a quick shower, then gets dressed. She puts on her work t-shirt, covering herself up with a bomber jacket that she zips up. She knows Barret doesn't like it when his employees don't showcase the logo on their shirts, but it's way too damn cold this time of year for her to work without a jacket. And she kind of gets a pass with Barret, all things considered, so she'll take the chance.

It's exactly 7 PM when she takes her spot behind the bar, relieving Biggs, who abstains from more unnecessary remarks. Unfortunately for her, Biggs is competent and the guy has already completed all the scheduled tasks for the evening. All that is left is to serve clients, but 7th Heaven's typical clientele doesn't come streaming in before 10:30 PM. So she turns on the radio at a music station for a little atmosphere, and she serves the occasional clients, cleans tables and glasses when need be. She really can't fault Biggs for being a cleaning nut job and leaving the whole area spotless, but she does wish she had something to _do_ right now. Knowing she'll get into trouble if Barret comes in doesn't discourage her from taking out the book she hid under the bar two weeks ago. Better to suffer his wrath than to be bored to death.

Her luck seems to turn when Cid, one of her regular clients, comes in. To her surprise, Cid, also known as the chatter machine, takes a seat at the end of the bar instead of his usual one in the middle. She slides him his whiskey, coming to stand in front of him. Something's wrong.

"What's up?"

Cid doesn't grace her with an immediate reply. First, he downs his drink, signalling her for a refill. Alright, so it's one of those days. He finally speaks after taking a few sips from his new glass.

"They raided the garage."

Tifa schools her features, and grabs a sparkling glass to clean, needing to busy her hands.

"Today?" She asks with a careful amount of apathy with a dash of concern. It's the I-can't-reveal-my-sympathies tone people in the poorer Sectors have learned to employ. Of course, most of those residents hate Shinra, considering how screwed over they've always been, so speaking against the Corporation gets a pass. But Carriers are another business entirely. The majority of people keep those particular opinions to themselves.

Cid nods as he keeps on sipping his whiskey. "One of the employees was on their list."

"What kind of raid was it this time?"

There are only two: the ones were they take prisoners, and the ones where they don't.

"Kid ran outside," Cid says, obviously bitter at the way the situation went down. "They shot him in the back like the goddamn cowards they are."

Tifa glances around, but no one seems to be listening.

"Be careful what you say, Cid."

His neck starts to redden, the signal she associates with a spike of his well-known temper.

"I don't give a single fuck about that."

Yeah, Tifa thinks, you really don't. That's also how he lost everything, but she doesn't remind him of that.

"That's always been your problem, Cid," she says instead and leaves it at that.

She knows he gets her meaning when he downs what's left of his drink. When he takes out his glasses and his crosswords puzzle book, she rolls her eyes. Men, so easily offended. He doesn't speak to her for the remainder of her shift, so she reads her books until it starts to thankfully get busy. Her replacement comes in at midnight, an older woman named Sylvie who's been manning a bar for longer than Tifa has been born.

Tifa heads for the stockroom, throwing a furtive glance over her shoulder to make sure everything's in order before going in. The compact, crammed room is the closest thing they've got to an employee break room, what's with the small table with its lonely chair shoved against a wall. There's barely any space for her to get to the back wall with all the shelves and crates taking so much space. She reaches the tiny camouflaged console controlling the dissimulated door, inputting her personalized access code. There's a barely audible sound signifying the wall panel has unlocked, and she pushes it open, taking care to lock it behind her. The others are already there, she realizes as she goes down the stairs and hears the sound of their voices. She must be the last one to arrive.

No one looks at her when she comes into the room. Jesse, Biggs and Wedge are way too invested in playing some card game they invented a while back to notice her walk in, and Yuffie has her attention solely on her three computer monitors. And Barret—Barret is cleaning one of his favourite guns. Tifa would have been a little worried at their lack of awareness if she didn't know Yuffie had been notified of her arrival by her individual access code.

"Hey," she calls out.

Barrett doesn't react but she knows he heard her. The trio stops playing, but still ignore her, now engaged in a shouting match, and Yuffie just waves over her shoulder.

"I thought we had an important meeting," she tries again.

Yuffie joins her side. "Yeah, Wallace, I thought we were here for _something_. I got stuff to do otherwise."

"You liar," Jesse quips, finally ending the card game. "You _literally_ live in this basement."

"Yuffie is probably a cyborg," Biggs adds. "I bet she's wired to these computers of hers."

Tifa sighs, a little exasperated, and leans against the table, looking over the plans and notes spread all over it. She frowns.

"Are we targeting another Shinra-owned building?"

At long last, she captures their attention. Barret gets to his feet, coming to join her; Jesse and Biggs and Wedge do the same. Only Yuffie stays where she is, and Tifa has to wonder if Biggs has a point with his cyborg talk.

"Yes," Barret answers, his voice taking on his trademark gruff, authoritative tone. "As a decoy."

"Are we finally taking things further?" Wedge asks. There's a glint in his eyes that calls for revenge, and though her cause is not the same, Tifa cannot judge. They all have different reasons for being here, for being Avalanche.

"Yes and no." Barret rummages through all the papers strewn around, and ends up sprawling a map of the city on the table. There are no handwritten notes on it, nothing that could trace back to them if it was ever lost.

"This will be our target." He points at a street in Sector 2. "And this as well." This time, he indicates an abandoned neighbourhood of Sector 4, where a Shinra manufacture plant was still operating until three months ago.

"Residential?" Jesse asks, puzzled over the Sector 2 choice.

"Think again," Barret replies.

Tifa knows his riddles when she hears one, so she peeks at the map again. Sector 2 is entirely commercial and residential, a fashion and nightlife hub for the small percentage of citizens living more than comfortably. There's really _nothing_ of interest to them unless they were aiming at rich people working for—

"The Board," she says, eyebrows shooting up at the realization. "All the Shinra Corp Board members live in Sector 2. No, Barret," she interjects when he starts to speak, "we can't do that. We don't have the manpower for it."

Tifa knows, as she sees the others smile, that she's going to lose this fight. But she's not the second-ranked member of this group for shits and giggles; she has a voice and she plans on using it.

Barret grunts, evidently disappointed by her disagreement. "You don't even know what I planned."

She crosses her arms. "Hits on the members?"

"Does it matter?" Biggs jumps in. "I'm in! It's time we took the fight to Shinra."

"It matters if we're not prepared for it."

"Tifa, stop. Let us go over this as a team first. Don't you think it's an option worth discussing?"

Tifa is about to remind him that, no, it's not, considering they don't have anyone here skilled enough to perform an assassination—and on a Shinra member with high-security nonetheless—but Yuffie cuts her off.

"Shut up, Lockhart. Give him a chance to elaborate."

"Fine, go ahead." She swipes her arm as if giving him the stage. Theatrics, maybe, but she wants her position to be clear.

"Alright, guys, here's the thing: we haven't done much until now. Vacant buildings have been our thing to let Shinra know we exist, but it's time to step it up. We can't let those fuckers keep on covering up all our efforts or hiding our presence from the public."

"So we bring the fight to their doors?" Biggs asks excitedly.

"Not yet." Barret glances at Tifa. "It's true that we don't have the manpower for that yet. But we can still start to think of new ways. Targeting the Board is too bold of a move for now, however it doesn't mean we can't prepare for it."

Tifa bites her bottom lip, releases it, and sighs. "You want me to trail them."

"Yes. You're the best at reconnaissance, and you know Midgard better than anyone." He turns to Yuffie, who is still sitting backwards in her chair. "Yuffie can start leaking our presence on the net. Build us up through forums, starting rumours, that kind of stuff."

"Okay, Boss, but one thing. Shinra monitors the net. I can get in and do all that without leaving a trace, but they'll know soon enough that we're publicizing ourselves."

"Good. That's what we _want_. We need to let them know we're here to stay and change things." Barret turns to Jesse. "You need to hold on to your job at Shinra Tower so we can get leads on the Board members. It's not the time to compromise it. And Wedge, you need to get started on designing us a trademark, an insignia, anything that we can use to identify us."

Biggs claps. "Signing our work. I like that."

"We need to build up, we need a goal. We might not be able to change things alone, but if we bring calculated attention to ourselves, we'll bring more people to our cause. We need to be the spark."

"The avalanche that will entomb Shinra," Wedge mumbles.

Barret smirks. "Poetic. And true." He faces Tifa. "Let me worry about the hits; you take care of the trailing. Learn their habits, their hangouts, their favourite roads; anything that could be useful down the line."

"And the Sector 4 bombing?"

"We can't let Shinra guess we're preparing something else, so we're gonna keep that up for now. Anyone's got any objections?"

The silence that ensues is deafening, the acquiescence, total. Tifa hesitates; she can't deny that Barret's approach is careful, so she swallows her doubts. They'll talk alone after.

"Good. This goes without saying, but we'll need to be extra careful if we want to do this and succeed. Don't do anything that could compromise you."

The unofficial dismissal is clear and loud, but Tifa stays where she is as the others talk quietly and begin to file out. After a few minutes, only Yuffie and Barret are left, but she needs Yuffie to go as well. Barret catches her eyes, guessing her intentions, and speaks before she can.

"Go get something to eat, Yuffie."

"I'm not hungry," she replies, focused on her monitors.

"I wasn't asking."

Yuffie huffs but complies. "Sure, Boss. Want me to bring you a salad while I'm there? Sparkling water?" She bows dramatically, backing towards the staircase. "At your service."

"Just get your stick figure ass out of the way, Kisaragi."

They both wait until the wall panel slams shut. Tifa gets closer to the table, examining the map.

"You still don't think it's a good idea, kiddo?"

"In theory, it's great," Tifa says. "But I think we need to redefine what our goals are. We never talked about assassinations."

"But it makes sense."

"Yes. If we want to cripple Shinra, we need to hit them directly. But…"

"It's just you and me, kiddo. Feel free."

She trails her fingers along the map, stopping at one of the reactors powering the city. "Are we still aiming for the reactors?" She hears Barret approaching and turns her head to look at him, but his eyes are on the spot her fingers stopped on.

"No, it's too risky."

"But it makes sense."

He chuckles at her using his own words. "Blowing up one of the reactors is a move we need to keep as a last resort. We need to be certain that we have the people behind us, since we will disable part of the city. And between you and me, I don't know if we'll get there."

"What do you mean exactly?"

"Revolutions take time, you know that. The reactor plan…the citizens have to be ready for it." He grunts. "Will they be before we get caught is an issue of its own."

Tifa hums her agreement. "You're not wrong."

"But I'm not right either?"

"Well, if we go after the Board, we're only painting a bigger target on _our_ backs. It could lock us down at some point."

"So what you're saying is that we need a Plan B."

"Don't you think? If we can't find a way to carry out the hits, it's a failure from the start. What about…" She scans the map again. "Export factories? Damaging Midgard's economy is an option. Hacking the adverts during governmental displays could have an impact."

"All possibilities. We can add them to the pile. But until we decide, I think preparing for the Board plan is what's best. We can choose one or two members, and you can start once Yuffie and Jesse give you the first leads."

"Well," Tifa concedes. "It's not lost information, that's for sure. Alright then, I'm gonna head to bed. I'm beat."

"Sure thing, kiddo. See you tomorrow."

She has one foot on the staircase when she twists around. "Barret. What about—"

"The Carriers?"

She nods. "They've redoubled on the raids recently. Maybe it could incite them to rally."

"Or discourage them." He shakes his head. "We need to challenge Shinra before they can feel safe to give themselves away. Not to mention all the fear and hatred born from propaganda. That's not something we can control."

"Yeah, I know," Tifa says bitterly.

His expression softens at her words, and he straightens up.

"Tifa, you most of all need to be careful out there."

"I know. And don't worry, if I compromise things, I'll remove myself from this. I don't want to jeopardize you guys."

"I'd rather you don't get identified in the first place."

Tifa salutes him, climbing the stairs. "Don't worry, I keep up my running. It's all under control. Night, Barret."

"Good night."

She takes a final glance at him; he's still engrossed in his map and plans. Avalanche and the idea of change are Barret's life, have been for as long as she's known him. At this point, nothing will make him deviate from his path. Then again, twelve years at Barret's side means she's just as invested, even if they only officially formed Avalanche five years ago. Barret is a planner; he'll take forever coming up with a strategy that takes minutes to execute, but thanks to this diligence of his, they've gone under the radar all this time. Doesn't mean they have to stop being cautious.

She notices Cid is still in his spot when she makes a detour to enter the main area in order to grab the book she left there. He's manifestly more drunk than before she left, and she reminds Sylvie that he can crash here; she doesn't want him to walk home in this state. Sylvie clearly wants to protest—she has no mercy for drunkards—but Tifa's word is law here at 7th Heaven, so she keeps her comments to herself. Reassured, Tifa heads up. There are two small apartments above the bar; one is hers, the other Barret's. They used to live together when she was a kid, but as she grew up, he let her have her space, which she has always been grateful for. Her place is where she feels safe, where she can lessen the control over her ability she otherwise consistently exerts. She didn't lie to Barret—the moment she puts Avalanche in danger for being a Carrier, she'll take herself out of the equation.

She doesn't go to sleep. She's tired, true, but the adrenaline of the meeting is finally coursing through her. She scrolls the net, looking for the public Shinra Board members list. She starts to memorize their face, watches interviews. She thinks of how this is bigger than her. She thinks of how dangerous it will be, but there is no fear within her. She's been ready for a long time.

Better get started.

—

 **A/N:** Thank you for the reviews and the favourites/alerts! Thank you as well for the welcomes-back's! I went over this quickly before heading to school, so sorry if there are too many mistakes.


	3. Chapter three

**A/N:** Again, thank you for the reviews/follows/favourites. A little on the short side, but we're still setting things up.

Just a few things to note: I changed the genre to Sci-fi, I felt it suited the story better; also, at the beginning of last chapter, when the two soldiers are talking about the bombing, it should have said Sector 3, not Sector 2. I didn't notice before posting the chapter! It's edited now, but I'm letting you know for continuity's sake.

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

—

3

—

It's been two weeks since they decided on what they now call the Board Plan, and Tifa is starting to think that maybe it was a terrible decision. If Barret asked, she'd tell him why; she'd say, _Barret, we're gonna get our asses kicked; we're gonna get found out; Barret, how are we supposed to carry this_ stupid _plan out_. But Barret is smart and he knows what she thinks—he could see it in her eyes when they spoke about it a few days after the meeting, so he doesn't ask. Sure, she'd gotten swept into the idea of it, but reality is hitting her hard now, and she's absolutely, a hundred percent certain that this is gonna go so wrong. Maybe it's just her being pessimistic; she's anxious by nature, and now she's imagining all the ways this could end.

Who, she wonders as she's wiping the counter of the bar, amongst them would be willing to kill in cold blood? She knows Biggs would step forward, but everyone knows that he's all talk. Forget about Wedge and Jesse; they're both driven, though not exactly killer material. Yuffie is incomparable when it comes to technology and computers, but she can't even hold a gun and gets out of breath when she runs after the train. That leaves her and Barret. Barret could do it, she's sure of it. But the guy is the pillar of Avalanche, without him there'd be nothing, and can they really take the risk of having him go out on these high-risk missions? So it boils down to her, and honestly—she's not sure she's ready for it. It wouldn't be the first time she kills someone. Living on the streets will twist your hand and force you to cheat at the game called survival; doesn't matter if you're 10 or 22. But this time it would be different, she knows it. And she can't take on a responsibility she's not sure she can carry out.

"Hey, Tifa, I think that's clean by now."

Cid's voice plucks her out of her thoughts, and she realizes she's still wiping the same spot. A little embarrassed, she clears her throat and throws the rag next to the sink. It's 6 PM and there's nothing to do for a few hours still. She kind of hates the evening shift for that, but she also enjoys chatting with Cid when it's quiet. He's better this week, less moody, and back to being a chatterbox.

"Sorry, I was thinking of something."

"Yeah, no shit."

Tifa rolls her eyes. "Shut up, old man."

The door opens, catching her attention. The man who comes in has bruises on his right cheek; his bottom lip is split and there's dried blood on his neck. He limps to the bar, sits down, and asks for something strong. Tifa almost laughs. It's not the first time this has happened. It's a pretty frequent scenario here at 7th Heaven.

"Here you go," she says, sliding him his drink.

"Thanks," the man grounds out. He goes to take his glass when he notices the blood on his hand. "Fuck." He glances down, a look of complete defeat on his face.

This time, Tifa does chuckle a little. "Don't move."

There's a first-aid kit behind the bar; it's more in case a fight breaks out between patrons, but Tifa has used it for this kind of situation before. She also brings a wet rag and some paper towels, and hands everything to the man. He thanks her as she opens the first aid kit.

"No problem. There's a washroom if you need a mirror for those." She points at the cuts on his face and neck.

The stranger shakes his head, and cleans up his hands first, moving on to his face in silence, so Tifa leaves him be. Cid obviously doesn't get the memo

"What happened to you, kid?"

It takes a few seconds for the man to answer. "It's stupid."

Cid raises his eyebrows expectantly. The answer clearly isn't enough for him.

The man sighs. "Street con. This kid said his father needed help. Turns out his 'father' was three grown ass teenagers wanting to steal my wallet."

Tifa glances subtly at his untouched glass of liquor. "Did they get your wallet?"

"No, I managed to get away. Got this instead," he grumbles, rubbing off the dried blood on his neck.

Alright, Tifa thinks, this guy is here, in Sector 7, obviously looking like a guy from a richer Sector with his navy peacoat and shiny boots, and naive enough not to see through the most basic street trick. He is kind of adorable in a how-has-the-city-not-eaten-him-yet.

"What are you doing in this Sector? No offense," she adds. "But it's pretty obvious why they targeted you." She sweeps a hand in the air, indicating his appearance.

"Oh?" The man looks himself over. "I guess. I actually live in Sector 6, but I work in an office in Sector 3. Dress code is pretty strict."

Tifa nods. Sector 3 is rather industrial and business-oriented, and a lot of people from Sectors 6 and 7 work there if given the chance. She looks at Cid, who is in turn looking at them; he's amongst the people lucky enough to work a decent job in Sector 3.

"What's your name?" She asks the stranger.

He closes the first aid kit, finally done, and says, "I'm Vincent. You?"

"I'm Tifa. So, Vincent," she grins and leans on the counter, "how did you not realize you were being fooled by that boy?"

Vincent's cheeks redden slightly, and for half a second, she feels bad for teasing him. He mumbles an inaudible answer.

"What was that, kid?" Cid jumps in.

Frowning, Vincent stares at Cid. "I'm…I like helping people."

"It's okay, kid, you can just say you're as naive as a kitten."

"I'm not—I'm not _naive_ ," Vincent protests, very obviously insulted.

"Oh yeah? Green? Innocent? Gullible?"

Tifa snorts.

Vincent is sputtering. "No…no! I'm trusting, okay? I'll admit that I'm trusting."

Cid leans in towards Tifa, whispering loudly, "It's a synonym."

"For fuck's sakes—"

"Alright, alright," Tifa intervenes, holding back her laughter. "We get it, Cid." She glares when he opens his mouth to go on. "It's enough teasing. Sorry about him," she says to Vincent. "He's a bitter old man."

Cid knows better than to bite, and only answers by raising his glass in acknowledgment.

"I just hope next time you don't fall for these tricks," Tifa adds.

Vincent takes the first sip of his drink, grimacing at the strength of it.

"It's just that…I know it's most likely a con, but I always think, what if this time it's real? What if they really need help?" He shakes his head. His dark hair falls on his forehead, and he pushes it to the side impatiently. "I'm dumb, I know."

"Well," Tifa says, tilting her head to the side, "yes, but I guess it's brave as well."

"I'm not so sure," he says quietly, eyes downcast.

Cid abstains from commenting, thankfully, and Tifa lets the silence go on for a few minutes, busying herself with menial tasks.

"This is a nice place," Vincent says suddenly. "Cozy. I like it."

7th Heaven _is_ a nice place; Tifa and Barret made sure of it. When he bought the bar from its previous owner, Barret transformed it. He kept the dark wood and brick walls, and together they scavenged the streets and markets for rugs, curtains, couches, armchairs, light fixtures, anything that would add a warm, welcoming atmosphere. She thinks they did a good job. The inside of the bar makes it look like it could be from a richer Sector. Of course, the real reason Barret wanted this place was for the unfinished basement he could renovate as he pleased so he could have a hidden room.

Tifa turns to Vincent, smiling. "Does that mean we'll see you around then?"

She's just slightly surprised when his cheeks redden. Well, his cheek not covered in cuts and bruises.

He keeps it cool when he answers, clearing his throat first. "I guess so."

Pointedly ignoring Cid's snickers, Tifa brings Vincent a glass of water.

"Sorry if I'm assuming wrong, but you don't seem to like that"—she gestures to his glass of whiskey—"very much."

The redness spreads this his ears. "Hm, yeah. I'm not big on alcohol. Thanks."

The door opens and a group of middle-aged men comes in, taking a seat at a table in the middle of the room. Tifa gives Vincent another smile as she goes around the counter to get the newcomers' order. "Just let me know if you want something else."

She catches Cid's mocking tone as she walks away, but can't decipher his words. Probably something she doesn't care to hear, anyway. She plasters on her work smile as she comes up to the table. They're regulars, part of a construction crew that works close by. They joke with her and she humours them for a while. Their conversation drifts through the room as she goes to prepare their drinks.

"Did you notice?"

"Kinda hard to miss, yeah."

"What do you think it means?"

"They probably want to increase the raids."

Tifa heads back to their table with their beers.

"What are you gentlemen talking about?" Her voice matches their quiet, cautious tone.

There's a chorus of muttered 'thanks' as she passes the drinks.

"You didn't see the new…ads?"

"They showcased them all day. I'm already sick of looking at them," one of the men grumbles. The others glance his way, wary, but don't contradict him.

Tifa shakes her head. "Haven't been out today."

"Well, you're not missing much. They're broadcasting for recruitment. The Captain and Shinra want to expand the army. It said something about a new task force."

"It's just…you know how they announce these things."

Yes, she knows. Come defend Midgard from the threat of the dangerous Carriers. Protect your lives and your jobs and your families. Chase down the people who would disrupt the peace, granted to you by Shinra Corp. None of them say it's bullshit, but their downturned mouths and frowns speak for themselves. And a new task force really is just an excuse to have the soldiers patrol the streets more often. She files the information away to be discussed later with Barret.

"I don't want my kid to join," the man closest to her says—Benny, she thinks. He speaks softly. "But what can you do when it pays well and we need the money. I know he's at least gonna try."

"It's a job," Tifa says, trying to seem encouraging, but her disgust is as transparent as theirs. No one comments on it and she heads back to the bar. She knows Vincent and Cid overheard everything, and she really, really hopes Cid is gonna shut his mouth.

He doesn't, of course.

"Should call it what it is," he says, not too loud but not quietly enough either. "It's goddamn propaganda."

"Cid," she warns.

Vincent squirms in his seat.

Cid is bitter as he continues. "They reel you in with pretty promises, but the moment you make one wrong step, they screw you over. They'll screw us all over before long."

Tifa doesn't disagree. She actually thinks Shinra has already "screwed them all over", but unlike Cid, she knows she shouldn't let her opinions be so public. So she sighs as if she's annoyed. It's mostly for Vincent's benefit, who looks supremely uncomfortable, eyes downcast and gulping down his water. She wants to tell Cid that his own history with Shinra isn't a generalized case, but the lie tastes too sour so she swallows it.

After a long silence, Vincent finally raises his eyes to hers, but before he can speak, Barret appears on her left. Tifa represses her surprise; she hadn't even heard him approach. Yuffie pokes her head around Barret's bulky frame.

"Hi," she says in the sulkiest voice Tifa's ever heard.

"Hey…did you guys need something?"

"I need to borrow you for a minute. Yuffie's gonna replace you."

Yuffie? Who's never been behind the bar? Who's barely legal? Who usually stays in the kitchen?

"Yuffie? Seriously?" She knows her eyebrows must be touching her hairline.

"Yeah, Yuffie. Why do you think she's moping? Come on." He heads for the office.

Tifa slowly looks at Yuffie, finding her scowling at Cid, who is returning the favour.

"Okay…" Tifa says, moving away from the bar. "You know what to do?"

"Of course," Yuffie huffs.

"Oh, so you don't remember the time she almost set fire to the kitchens?" Cid smirks.

"That wasn't even my fault, you old fuck," Yuffie replies viciously.

Great start, Tifa thinks as she leaves them to their bickering with a startled Vincent as their witness. She closes the door to the office behind her. It's a small room, full of official files about the bar. Both her and Barret manage it, but she has the feeling this has nothing to do with 7th Heaven. She's right.

"Jesse got us a lead."

Tifa crosses her arms. "What kind?"

"A good one." He tosses a newspaper on the desk. Tifa leans forward.

"Heidegger?" She whispers. The look she sends him is incredulous. "Are you fucking nuts?"

Barret shrugs. "Go big or go home, right?"

Tifa blinks. "Well, yes, but…" She picks up the paper. The headline is an article praising the efforts of the Head of Public Safety. Sponsored by Shinra, of course. "He's gonna be a hard target."

"And he might be our only chance. We don't know how many we'll be able to pull off. Might as well make sure we get the big one."

She hands him back the paper. "You still don't have a plan?"

Barret grunts and she takes it as a no. "We're missing someone who can carry the hits."

It's on the tip of her tongue to suggest she could, but he switches topic.

"If you leave now for Sector 2, you should be in time to tail him home. Jesse says he comes in late, leaves late."

The way he stares at her is full of questions, no expectations, and she's sure she could back out and he wouldn't force her, only be disappointed in her choice. Barret has raised her as his daughter first, his soldier second. He's told her thousands of times that she'll always have a choice with him.

"I'll go," she says.

She has to hurry after that. The ride from Sector 7 to Sector 2, going through Sector 1, isn't long, but the chance of interceptions and searches is higher, and the checkpoints are thorough. Tifa usually takes the other direction, crossing all the other Sectors in order to make her life easier, but she doesn't have time for that tonight. She gets changed, taking out her nicer clothes she reserves for these visits to richer Sectors. It's getting colder outside, so she puts on her camel peacoat and black gloves, and she's ready to go.

To head out, she decides to take the back store door in order to avoid any unnecessary questions. But as she crosses the hallway, Vincent comes out of the washroom. His face morphs into a look of curiosity at her change of clothes. His eyes stray towards the clock hanging on the wall—7 PM.

He gives her a shy smile. She returns it.

"Now you're the one who looks like you're from another Sector."

"I'm going to see a friend. She lives in Sector 2." She motions at her appearance. "It's just easier to avoid questions when you're dressed like this."

"No, I get it. I do the same when I have to go there."

"Well," Tifa says, "I have to catch the train. I'll see you around?"

Vincent seems more relaxed now that Cid isn't analyzing all his reactions, and he doesn't redden this time, only nods.

"Alright, then. Have a nice night." She waves at him as she strides towards the back store.

Time to get to work.


	4. Chapter four

**A/N:** Sorry for the repost; part of the chapter was writen out twice. It should be good now!

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

—

4

—

Shinra Tower looms at the centre of the city. It's menacing and immense, a constant reminder they are being monitored. It can be seen from anywhere and everywhere in Midgard. Tifa watches the Tower's Sector 2 entrance through its reflection in a store's window. According to Jesse, Heidegger leaves at 8 PM and walks home. She glances at one of the flashing billboards to see the time: 7:57 PM. She arrived 5 minutes ago. Right on time.

Sector 2, Tifa thinks, is a different world. The first thing she'd noticed on her original visit here was the carelessness. People weren't cautious; they were out in masses at night, partying, dining, shopping. The officers were everywhere but didn't do random checks as long as you fit the décor. Then, she'd taken in the place itself. Neon adverts are scarce Instead, the buildings are colourful and architecturally artistic; the rare trees and flowers line the streets.

Tifa hates it. She's also somewhat jealous of the residents, though she'd never admit it aloud.

The clock hits 8 PM. She moves on to another store at an angle from the Tower's entrance and continues her pretend window-shopping. A second later, she spots him. Heidegger is tall and powerfully built, recognizable by his bushy black beard, strong eyebrows and constant frown. His briefcase looks ridiculously tiny in his hand, and he's talking on the phone. Tifa pouts. Having him distracted makes her job easier, but it also takes away from the challenge.

He moves, joining the throng in the pedestrian-only street. Tifa smoothly takes her place amongst the dozens of people, following the crowd's movement. There's a good distance between them, but his height makes keeping up with him child's play. Still, she stays on her toes, surveying the surroundings.

That's how she makes out the soldiers encircling the crowd. It's not obvious, not at first. They come streaming from the side streets, casual in their pace. She's been tailing Heidegger—no longer on his phone—for a while now. They've moved on to a wide street with restaurants and cafes. There are fewer people in this area and it makes Tifa nervous though she doesn't show it. For an instant, she's afraid they're here for her. It's irrational, and she tells herself to calm down. She didn't give herself away, her ID and record are perfect, her ability is under control. A relieved sigh escapes her as the soldiers converge on the left side of the street, away from her and towards a parked car and the two men next to it. There's nothing special about them. They're dressed impeccably, the picture-perfect Midgard wealthy businessmen.

The soldiers break into a run, heading for them. They bump into people, jostling the crowd, and everyone stops moving as if ordered. The whistle is heard despite all the city's cacophony.

It's a raid.

Heidegger comes to a halt. So does Tifa a few meters behind him. Everyone turns to look at the scene, and Tifa goes along with the cues. She doesn't want to see this, she really fucking _doesn't_ want to, but she can't get singled out because she's ignoring the scene.

For a minute, it's complete chaos. Soldiers push away the eager crowd, forming a circle around the two men, now kneeling on the sidewalk with their hands behind their heads. Tifa sees their mouths move, their panicked expressions, but there's too much noise to understand what they're saying. But she knows the script and can fill in the blanks. _You have the wrong people, please check our IDs, we're innocent_. Any Carrier would know.

Tifa spots one of the two men twist his head. Following his line of sight brings her to a car near the larger part of the soldiers—and oh shit, she _cannot_ stay where she is, she's too exposed. She backs up, but her back hits a wall. Damn it.

The car blows up a second later.

Tifa throws herself on the ground. She senses the pieces flying overhead, hears the mixture of horrified and pained screams, feels the heat of the fire. Another explosion, further down the street. That's when she sees the car less than a meter from her, still intact but who knows for how long? She gets up on all fours, crawling away into the doorway of a store. Her heart is threatening to burst. The shelter from the doorway is minimal, but it lets her even out her panic and allows her to glance around.

Most people are on the ground, afraid, wounded, dead—it's hard to tell. There are barely any soldiers left. The two men are standing, uninjured. A slight shimmer in the surrounding air betrays a protective barrier. Sirens wail in the distance, and it prompts them to run just as a military vehicle rounds the corner. Tifa looks away as it flies apart. When she turns her head to assess the damage, the two Carriers have vanished and the leftover soldiers are running into an alley. All that's left of the truck is its burning frame. Her nails are digging into the palm of her hands, and the urge to run away is overwhelming.

In, out, in out—breathe in, out, Tifa Lockhart. _You cannot_ run _._ Barret's voice is loud in her head.

So she gets on her feet, doing her best to minimize the trembling of her body. She can't stay here, she can't stay, she can't—Heidegger, what happened to the target—other trucks, more soldiers, they're saying something, but she can't—what's the procedure in these situations—a perimeter, they'll blockade the area—ID verification and testing for Type-D—she needs to _get out_ —

Her ears are ringing, her vision is spotty, but her legs work, so she carries herself into a side street, away from the madness and the fires. Conjuring her internal map of the city proves difficult. She's been everywhere, seen every corner of this godforsaken city, and _damn it_ , why can't she focus—That sign, she recognizes that sign, _Yale, Sloan & Kishimoto LLP, _she's been in there before. She can hide in there.

The doors are heavy and she pushes with all the strength she has left, stumbling into the abandoned reception area when they open. She remembers now. This place closed down years ago; there was an accident, part of the building crumbled. The doors shut behind her, muting the noise of the commotion. Tifa can hear herself think again. Spots cloud her vision and she blinks them away. Though her head still hurts, it's bearable. She'll be fine. She has to be.

First, she should go up. If the soldiers extend their search to this area—and she's certain they will—chances are they'll look through the first few levels only. Walking gets easier with every step, and she soon finds herself jogging towards the door leading to the stairwell. It gives away under her weight, and she holds it as it falls to lessen the noise. She takes the time to picture the layout of this place. She hid in here ages ago, but if memory serves her well, she'll need to go up at least three flights of stairs and then—

Sudden hurried footsteps coming from the reception area make her freeze. A quick look around tells her the only place to hide is behind a wall corner. Climbing the stairs would attract too much attention. She hesitates, considers using her ability, but it could get her identified and that's too big of a risk. She lunges for the corner just as the footsteps near. A second later, there's the distinct sound of the stairwell door softly being pushed open. Whoever this is, they know they aren't alone. Fuck. She's in no state to fight her way out. Tifa bends her knees in case she has to bolt. She raises her eyes, only to notice the hazy image of a man coming closer through the dirty window. The faintest reflection of a movement is her sole sign to move out of the way. She sidesteps in time to see the guy turn the corner, knife in hand. She hadn't heard the switchblade releasing.

Tifa's first instinct is to pretend—pretend she is scared, that she panicked and hid. But the agitated glint in the man's eyes is familiar, and she bets he can see the same in hers. She straightens her body, raising her hands to show she has no weapons. He doesn't budge, his blade still held out in front of him.

He breaks the silence. "What are you doing here?"

Tifa inhales sharply, then exhales. If she's wrong about this guy and he sells her out…

"Same as you," she says.

He blinks in rapid succession as if the thought hadn't crossed his mind, but his stance stays the same. They both jump when the beam from a flashlight flickers through the door's window. A growing noise indicates soldiers in the reception area.

"Fuck," she hisses. "Come on!" She moves past him and climbs up the stairs quietly and quickly. The footsteps following hers tell her the guy listened. After three flights, Tifa veers to the right, towards the elevator. She pokes her head inside the shaft, seeing the elevator car is still on the lower levels. Good. She twists around, witnessing the stranger curse at the demolished staircase leading up.

"This way," she calls.

He turns, swearing again when he sees her disappear inside the elevator shaft. "Are you fucking serious?"

Tifa looks down as she keeps climbing the service ladder, ready to retort, but keeps her mouth shut when she sees him get inside. They go up three levels before Tifa climbs out. He does the same seconds later. She crouches down close to the entrance, watching out for signs that the soldiers pursued, but there is only the even breathing of the stranger next to her. She gets up, motioning him through a hallway towards a big, abandoned office. Her head thumps but she ignores it.

Tifa stands next to the window. It gives her a good enough, though distant, view of the street where the fight broke out. People are being helped up, carried out on stretchers. But she also sees some trying to leave and being stopped. She sees them take out their ID, hold out their arms. She lets the dusty blinds close and turns her head towards the guy. He's sitting in a swivel chair and staring at her, his knife still loosely held at his side.

"So," he begins, "what's a nice Sector 2 girl like you hiding from?" He continues before she can speak. "Of course, you're not _actually_ from Sector 2, or you'd have handed over your ID and submitted to testing." He puts the knife away. Tifa catches sight of the small bleeding cuts on his cheek and jaw. Must have been from the exploding cars.

She lets the pause grow. Then, "What gave it away?"

"Not much I'll admit." He rests an ankle on a knee, fingers steepled over his stomach. Tifa would think him relaxed if not for the tension lining his face. "You look the part, that's for sure. But I don't think a Sector 2 girl would climb an elevator shaft."

"I could have been full of surprises."

A ghost of a smirk forms on his lips, but he doesn't reply. Tifa goes back to watching the street.

"Doesn't look like they'll clear out anytime soon," she observes aloud.

She can hear him spin the chair around. "You think they'll climb up?"

"Doubtful. Last time they didn't bother."

"Right, last time. And what would make you hide in here twice?"

"You know what," she says, turning around to face him fully. "I expect it's the same for you."

The guy hums but doesn't take the bait. She has to get him to confirm he is a Carrier, or she hinted at being one to the wrong person.

"What were you doing here, anyway?" She asks. "You clearly aren't from this Sector."

"Work." He opens his jacket to show the insignia sewed unto the left pocket of his shirt. From the other side of the room, Tifa can't see what it reads. "I was on my way back from a delivery. What about you?"

Tifa leans against the wall.

"Hey, fair's fair. I answered."

She gives him the same excuse she told Vincent. "I was visiting someone."

He raises an eyebrow, silently calling her out on her answer. She doesn't bother elaborating. Instead, she crosses the room, grabbing another chair on her way, and sits down a couple of feet away from him. The silence goes on for awhile; they both busy themselves on their phones. The racket from outside gets louder and closer until it's _too_ loud and _too_ close, and both stiffen.

"Did you hear that?" His voice is tense.

Tifa did, and before he can react, she's out of her seat and into the hallway. The soft curse that echoes behind her lets her know she moved too fast. She nears the elevator shaft, unsurprised at the beams of light dancing on the walls. Fuck, she really thought they wouldn't extend their search this far into the edifice. Careful not to be seen, she gets as close as she can. The voices carry upwards, the sound amplified by the empty passage. She's relieved when their snappy conversation tells her they haven't climbed up yet.

"There _is_ a chance."

"Don't think so, Weber. We didn't even see anyone come in here. We're wasting our time."

"No, there were footsteps earlier."

"Okay, then, stage's yours."

"Alone?"

"Yeah, alone, Weber. You chickenshit?"

"I can't go _alone_. There could be Carriers!"

"That's why you have a gun, Weber. Pew pew."

"We can't split up—"

"I decided we can. Come on, go on. We have to meet back up with the others in ten minutes."

"Fuck, don't _push_ me, okay? I'm going."

Tifa has to resist the urge to swear aloud. In a flash, she's back in the office. The stranger is still seated, looking unbothered with a dash of annoyance.

"You could have said something."

"Get up," Tifa orders, dismissing his remark for later. "We have to hide."

He listens, walking after her as she leads them further into the building. She gets nervous when it becomes obvious there is no good hiding spot. All the rooms are bare with only the occasional desk and chair lying around. They've just turned a corner when they hear the soldier approaching. They duck into the first open room, running for the desk, and Tifa can't believe their luck. The desk is huge and full-framed, and unless Weber comes inside and looks under it, they won't be visible. They slide under it, crouching shoulder to shoulder.

"We can take him," the guy whispers; it's so faint she has to strain to understand.

He's taken out his switchblade again. Tifa shakes her head, signalling he should shut up and stay put. Weber's footsteps are muted on the carpeted floor, though increasingly louder. Tifa grits her teeth as he stops close, the flashlight brightening the room. Next to her, the stranger is light on his toes, ready to bounce.

They both almost jump at the crackling of the radio and the distorted "Weber?" that comes after. The soldier swears and there's the sound of the flashlight tumbling on the floor.

"Weber? We gotta head back."

"I'm on my way," the soldier says shakily, recovering from the fright.

"You sound like you pissed your pants. Find any Carriers?"

"None."

The voices fade away as Weber leaves, but Tifa and the guy don't dare come out of hiding. She counts three minutes before poking her head around the desk's corner, then tiptoes towards the hallway.

"Coast seems clear," she says.

The guy adds nothing, but he trails behind her as she ushers them back to the big office they were in before. As a measure of precaution, Tifa goes back to the elevator shaft to make sure the soldiers left. She hears their voices grow dim until there is nothing but the ever-present noise from the streets. Satisfied though a little shaken, she heads back, falling into the chair she had vacated earlier. The stranger is staring at her, and she breaks the ice.

"I did tell you."

"What?"

"About being a Carrier?"

He frowns. "You hinted, but you could have been hiding for other reasons."

Well, she has to grant him that. "True. But I guessed you were one; figured you would do the same."

"It's risky to do so." A shrug. "Speed, huh?"

She raises her eyebrows in expectation. "Fair's fair," she echoes his words.

He rubs a hand over his face. Then, he brings it before him. A moment later, a small flame bursts from his fingertips. He lets it sway for a few seconds. It disappears when he closes his fist.

"That's neat," she says. "First time I've seen someone able to manipulate fire."

"It's…yeah, it's fire and heat manipulation." He rocks the chair from side to side. "Goes hand in hand."

"So you can raise something's temperature until it combusts?"

"Or whatever the object's reaction would be."

Tifa shuffles in her seat, trying to get comfortable. There's a feeling going through her, and she thinks she could call it eagerness. Being able to speak freely with another Carrier is a first. She tucks one of her legs under the other and leans forward.

"When did it manifest?"

A shadow passes over his face at her words, but he answers anyway. "When I was 13."

"That's late," Tifa notes to herself. "Mine showed when I was 7."

He nods. The gloominess dissipates from his eyes, replaced by a glint of curiosity. "Speed must hard to keep under control."

"Yeah." The memory makes her breathing loud. "It's all right now, but it was horrible when I was a kid. I had to concentrate every time I moved."

When he replies, his voice matches her hushed tone. "How did you get it under control?"

"I run every day. I don't know how, but it helps me focus."

"Yeah."

She tilts her head to the side. "What about you?"

His mouth twists into a hard line, and Tifa isn't sure she said the right thing.

"It's…hard to get under control." He scratches his cheek. She thinks he might be bothered by the cuts there. "It flares up at the slightest emotion."

"Linked with your temper? That's almost…" She wants to say poetic, but she has a hunch he wouldn't like it.

"It's shit, is what it is," he grounds out. Yeah, she was right.

"It didn't show earlier?" He looks at her, quizzical. "When we were running away and hiding?"

"Oh." He looks away. "I guess fear is different. I had to learn to channel it or I wouldn't be here. It's worse with strong emotions."

She senses he wants to drop the subject, and though she'd like to continue discussing this, she knows better than to push a stranger. She realizes she still hasn't learned his name, so she asks him.

He blinks at her question.

"Right. I'm Cloud."

She gives him a small smile. "Tifa."

He makes a show of glancing around the room. "I'd say nice to meet you, but the circumstances are a little unpleasant."

Tifa chuckles. "Likewise."

There are still shouts coming from outside. Her cellphone tells her it's nearing 8:40 PM, and she has a hard time believing everything happened in such a short amount of time.

"Damn, the incident's everywhere on the net," Cloud says. He's scrolling through something on his phone.

Tifa startles. Right, if the events of tonight have made their way to the net, there's no way Yuffie hasn't learned of it by now. She needs to call Barret.

"I'm gonna call my friend," she mentions offhandedly. "There's no way I can make it tonight."

It rings once before Barret picks up. It's not like her to call during an assignment.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. But I can't come see you tonight, sorry."

Barret's voice reflects his confusion. "What are you talking about? Are you sure you're okay?"

Tifa feels a little bad for not being direct, but she doesn't want to take the chance to speak about tonight's mission. Cloud is a Carrier, yes, but he's still a stranger, and she can't trust him with that kind of information.

"Turn on the news, you'll have the details."

"Wait a second. Yuffie!" She hears him yell away from the receiver. "What happened in Sector 2?"

Yuffie's answer is immediate but muffled, and Tifa can't make it out.

"Fucking hell, kiddo, are you safe?" His shaky intake of breath betrays his panic.

"Yeah, no worries." She raises her eyes to look at Cloud, who's playing with his knife. "I'll talk to you later."

"Call me if _anything_ happens," are Barret's last words before he hangs up.

Tifa puts the phone away and goes back to the window. Her stomach drops at the sight of citizens being shoved into a truck. The number of soldiers has increased exponentially—reinforcements for the blockade, she realizes. People huddle near the newly installed railings barricading the way out. They're stuck in here. She swallows her fear. This is not the time to let it overtake her. She's been in worse situations than this; the comfort of the last years has dulled her sharp edges.

"We're gonna be in here for a while," she tells Cloud as she sits back down.

He grunts. "Blockade?"

"Yeah," she says, quiet. "This is just a guess, but it must be a Level 4 alert. The physical blockade should last at least 8 hours."

"And after that?" There is no trace of anxiety in Cloud's expression but his fidgeting gives him away.

"It depends on them getting the guys. If they arrest them, there shouldn't be any random checks. Otherwise…" She lets the unsaid words hang in the air.

"We both know they won't arrest them." Cloud twirls the knife. "They'll be killed on sight."

Tifa rests her chin on her hand. "I don't know."

He looks at her, slightly incredulous. "Come on, they're gonna call on that goddamn shoot-to-kill Article."

Yes, they could do that; Tifa knows they like to pull out the Article 34.2 card often enough. But she's also aware of the recently increasing number of raids that don't end in Carrier deaths. It's information she's been monitoring and keeping close, suspicious of what Shinra is up to. She can't appear to know too much.

So she sighs as if resigned, and says, "Yeah, you're right."

Cloud eyes her in a way that puts her on edge, and she relaxes her body to mask any nervousness.

Finally, he blinks and the intensity of his stare shatters. "How can you tell it's a Level 4 alert?"

His question sounds innocent enough, but Tifa still gauges her words.

"Too many civilian _and_ military deaths. Plus as far as we know, they're still on the run." She points to the window behind her with her thumb. "Also, there are a lot of soldiers outside."

"I wonder what 'too many' is to Shinra."

There's a chilliness to Cloud's voice that makes her want to give him a clear answer. Still, she doesn't explain, and he doesn't inquire how she gained this information. They let the conversation die, for a while. It picks up again, on and off, until 10 PM rolls around. They go around the room, attempting to find anything to entertain themselves. They're both growing tired and grumpy, and they're angry at the situation; it bleeds into their interactions with each other. Tifa considers it a success when she discovers an old pack of cards in a desk drawer.

They sit down on the floor facing each other, and Cloud shuffles the deck.

"What do you play?" He asks.

"Everything. You choose."

"A challenge. All right, let me think."

He settles on a basic game ever Midgard resident know. She wins. He calls for a rematch. It goes on for a while until they switch to a betting game. She's prepping the cards. He asks what they should bet. They end up gathering pens, paper clips, staplers, anything they can find. At some point, a gunshot resonates from the street, and Tifa drops her card. Frustrated with herself and all that's happening, she rubs her eyes, silent. When she opens them, Cloud is studying her.

"What?" She snaps, then regrets it. "Sorry."

"We should sleep." She shakes her head, but he insists. "It's almost midnight."

She inhales deeply. "What if they come back?"

"I'm a light sleeper."

Which is code for: I won't sleep. She'd do the same, but she is exhausted, emotionally and physically. There's a soreness to her body she began feeling an hour ago, probably an aftermath of the earlier skirmish. Against her judgment, Tifa agrees. They pick up the cards and the stationary they spread on the floor. She goes in search of a bathroom, and when she comes back, Cloud is finishing a conversation on his phone.

"—worry. I'll be back tomorrow. Yes, I'll be careful. Good night, Sunshine."

Too tired to care, Tifa dismisses him, and stakes a corner of the room. She lays down, doing her best to get comfortable, which turns out to be impossible. Cloud walks to the opposite wall and slides down below the window; he props his arms on his knees, knife in hand. He's facing the doorway.

"You should sleep, too," Tifa says.

He yawns but hides it. "I'll be fine."

"Sure. Okay."

Hard to tell from afar, but she's sure he rolled his eyes. She shuts hers, and it doesn't take long for her fatigue to seize control of her.

"Night, Tifa."

The voice is a hazy whisper. She thinks she'd like to answer, but she can't. She sleeps.

—


	5. Chapter five

**A/N:** Sorry if this is a little rough and short; I have exams coming up so this was my only window of time to post for a least a week, and I'd already taken more time that I wanted to get this up. Also, I forgot to mention this a the beginning, but the M rating is for things like language, themes, violence, some sexual content. And thanks again for the reviews and favourites!

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

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5

—

It's the jarring pain in Cloud's neck that wakes him up; he has no memory of falling asleep. He opens his eyes to a sunrise and to Tifa standing next to the window, a meter from him. He fell on his side while sleeping, his neck crooked and—was he drooling? Damn it. He wipes his mouth in haste before getting to his feet. Tifa lets the blinds fall when she hears him move.

"Hey," she says, and there's no sign of the agitation from last night. She's back to the alert and composed version he first met.

"Hey." He looks at his phone for the time, only to see it's out of battery. "What time is it?"

"Six fifteen. They lifted the blockade. We should go before people leave for work."

He rubs his eyes. "Yeah. Just tell me where's the bathroom."

Tifa does, and she hides a smirk. "Don't fall asleep in there."

"Cute," he mutters as he leaves the room.

She's waiting in front of the office when he comes back, and they make the trek towards the reception area. Not fully awake, Cloud has to concentrate as he goes down the elevator shaft, but Tifa doesn't seem to have any trouble. He wonders how long she's been up.

As they near the doors leading outside, Tifa signals at him to stay back, and he represses the irritation that flares up at her assumption. She steps out, scanning the street.

"All clear," she calls, satisfied with what she's seeing.

Cloud walks forward, opening the door wider. Tifa had been leaning on it, and she yelps as she stumbles forward. She takes a second to regain her balance, and he ignores her glare as he stretches.

"That was an asshole move," she says, arms crossed over her chest. His eyes stray but he catches himself quickly enough.

"My bad." His reply's lack of emotion has her sighing. "So where you headed?"

"Sector 7."

He nods. "Sector 6. I'm taking the long way."

"Same." She tucks her hair behind her ears. "Let's go."

They walk towards the closest train station, bypassing the street where the commotion occurred. At this hour, the city is almost empty, and they mix in well with the party-goers returning home after a night out. Cloud grimaces when he spots his reflection in a store window; his hair is a real mess, more so than usual, and his clothes are all rumpled. Tifa, in turn, looks impeccable. His attempts at smoothing his hair and at patting the wrinkles out of his shirt end in failure, so he lets it go.

It's a while until the station comes into view; people are starting to fill the streets. He kept silent, sensing the tension emanating from Tifa. Her high anxiety has him puzzled, but he just adds it to the list of weird things about her. He's not too sure he wants to know, anyway.

To Cloud's surprise, the terminal isn't crowded at all, but he's quick to remind himself that the people here have their own way of life. He doesn't comment on it, not as they scan their passes and wait on the platform, and not as they take two adjacent seats. It's when the train departs that it spills out, low and bitter.

"It's like a different world."

Tifa glances around to see if anyone heard him, but he's not worried; he made sure his words were for her ears only. Her hesitation is noticeable, but she answers a simple, "It is."

Her short reply is a let down, but he doesn't show it. Instead, he leans his head against the window, hoping to catch up on sleep. When Tifa resumes the conversation where she'd left it, he turns to look at her.

She speaks with caution as if soldiers would stream in any second. "Did you know they can buy a kind of status that validates their ID?"

Cloud hides his surprise and matches her tone. "You mean they can be exempt from checks?"

"Not exactly." She plays with the buttons of her coat. Her next words are chosen carefully. "They have to give out their ID, but they will always be cleared."

The unsaid hangs between them, and Cloud is baffled. A surge of outrage risks overtaking him, but he quells it.

"They allows this?"

She nods.

"But—I mean, they have to know, right?" The resentment tastes foul in his mouth. "The people asking for these—these _validated_ IDs have to be hiding something." They have to be Carriers, is what he really wants to say.

Tifa shrugs. "They get it through donations, sponsorships, things like that." Another survey of the train compartment. There are only two men on the other side, both seemingly dozing. "Shinra prefers having them on their side."

This time, his temper is stronger than him, and he hisses, "They hunt _us_ like dogs. They—" He cuts himself off, refusing to let his emotions be in charge of him. The silence stretches as he calms down, and he focuses on something else, anything else. They're entering Sector 4 when he speaks again.

"Why did you tell me this?"

 _How do you know_ is what he truly wants to ask, but he has a feeling she won't answer that. Her mysteries are best left untouched, he thinks.

Tifa throws him a furtive look. "I guess… I knew you'd understand." She rests her arms on her crossed legs, leaning forward, and he discerns the swell of her anger. "How unfair it is. The frustration. I want to do something," she adds, quiet but strong. "I _have_ to do something."

Cloud absorbs her words; he lets them sink in, unsure what to do with them. He feels an echo at their sound, their call; something deep within him is answering. He recognizes the desire for change, the need to act, the yearning for justice. But he buried all that far down years ago, and if he digs, he's not careful anymore. And he can't do that, won't do that. But he likes the glint of hope in her eyes, and he knows the wrong reply will extinguish it. He's tired of disappointing people, tired of apathy and thoughtlessness. He wants to say _I understand_ —it's not a lie, it's a truth from the past. And yet, the words get stuck in his throat.

His answer ends up being a mere nod, and he watches Tifa take it as the dismissal it is. She simply blinks and looks away as if she'd never said anything, as if he should forget what just transpired. The ensuing silence isn't comfortable. Cloud hates it.

When he sees the giant, dilapidated SECTOR 5 sign pass them by, his thoughts stray to his mako supply. He's still got enough for a week or so, but he figures he might as well stop by James' place to stock up for the month. If he was honest with himself, he'd admit he kind of wants to get off this train as fast as possible.

"I'll be getting off at the next stop," he tells Tifa.

She doesn't ask why, doesn't mention he previously said he was heading to Sector 6. She just says, "Okay." The indifferent answer grates him slightly, but he's aware he brought it upon himself.

As he's about to get up, he hesitates. What's the etiquette in this situation? Should he ask for her number as a means to get in touch? Should he thank her for helping him hide?

In the end, he doesn't get to decide. He's on his feet when she gives him an hardly-there smile.

"Take care of yourself."

Cloud isn't sure what he expected, really, but a straightforward goodbye hadn't crossed his mind. He still has some time before the train halts; he could rewind, ask her to stay in touch. After all, he doesn't remember the last time he talked freely with another Carrier—or rather, he'd prefer not to _think_ about it. But disappointment muddles his judgment.

"You, too."

He walks towards the doors, glancing behind him. Tifa wraps her coat tighter around her. She seems both downcast and frustrated, and he thinks of saying something, anything, when the doors open. He steps out. Once he's on the platform, he looks back; Tifa waves as the train departs, and he returns the gesture.

It's for the best, he tells himself, heading towards the heart of the Sector 5 slums.

—

When he gets to James's grimy building, Cloud goes around the back. As he'd expected, James is there, sunglasses on despite the lack of sunshine, sprawled in a salvaged lounge chair that's seen better days. Cloud really dislikes the guy's collection of tropical shirts, and James is wearing the worst offender this morning, a button-down with a mix of four colourful patterns. It gives Cloud a headache.

He kicks the chair's leg as a greeting.

"I saw you already," James drawls, not moving an inch.

"Where's my 'hello', then?"

James lifts the sunglasses on his forehead. "Do you want a fucking hug, too?"

Cloud snorts. "Keep your hands to yourself."

"Everyone wants a piece of me these days," James says as he stands up.

Cloud met him years ago and by now, James knows more about him than most people do. He would never admit it aloud, but he guesses he _could_ call this some variant of friendship.

"So why are you here on this glorious day?"

Cloud gives him a pointed stare.

"You know I don't read minds, buddy. You're gonna have to use words."

"There's only one reason for me being here."

James brings a hand over his heart. "Oh, how you wound me. What about the pleasure of my company?"

"You really want an answer to that?"

"Wow, who pissed in your cereals this morning?"

"I haven't even _eaten_ my goddamn cereals."

"A night out." James appears impressed. He even claps, slowly for dramatic effect. "I thought you looked terrible, too."

Cloud rolls his eyes. "Next time I'll make myself presentable."

James turns on his heels and walks towards the shed, signalling at Cloud to stay put. When he comes back, he's holding a box of granola.

"Okay, you _have_ to be kidding. What are you, some middle-aged lady?"

James looks insulted. "That's mean, buddy. That shit's good for you." He throws the box at Cloud. "Eat."

Despite his protests, Cloud sits down and opens the box. He shoves a handful in his mouth, not having realized how hungry he was.

"Since when do you live in the shed?" He asks through a mouthful. James grimaces at the sight.

"I don't. But I might have commandeered it."

"Look at you using big words. Didn't even know you could read."

"Damn, you're pissy." James drags the second chair closer and flops down on it. "The shed's just convenient to store all my crap. Also, I'm lazy. I don't want to go inside to get food."

"Dude, you live on the ground floor."

"Detail." James waves his hand in dismissal.

"What happens if the military swings by?"

"My shed's totally legal."

Cloud raises his eyebrows in disbelief, but James doesn't take the bait.

"So, still on that winning streak?"

One night, not long after he had started fighting in the underground, James had shown up in the crowd. It'd happened a couple of times after that. James wouldn't speak to him, hanging out with other people instead, the only sober one amidst his group. But then again, Cloud has always seen him sober. At first, it had surprised Cloud, considering the guy's occupation, but James had once explained it was only a means to an end. No lofty ideals of helping Carriers or rebellious thoughts of going against Shinra—only a way to survive. Cloud can respect that.

"Yeah," Cloud finally answers. He gives the box of granola back to James, who plunges his hand in it. "It's going well." A little too well if he was to believe the old man who had intercepted him two or so weeks ago.

"Keep it up, buddy. I like the cash." James gives him a thumbs up. "Though the next time you lose on purpose, give me a heads up."

Taken aback, Cloud blinks. "I don't lose on purpose," he lies.

"Uh, yeah, you do, buddy. I've seen dozens of your fights. You're pretty vicious when you want to win. You almost killed at least three guys." James glances at him with a don't-take-me-for-an-idiot expression. "I can tell when you take it easy."

Ignoring the last part of James' speech, Cloud says, "I don't—I don't _almost kill_. I'm very careful," he adds defensively.

"Buddy," James says, voice matter-of-fact. "I wouldn't want to fight you. It's obvious you've seen some stuff."

Cloud frowns.

"You're seriously gonna make me say it?" James points a finger at him and says in a conspiratorial whisper, "You've killed before, buddy. I can tell." He waggles his eyebrows. "I just want the deets."

"You're wrong," Cloud lies again.

James gives him a disappointed gaze. "Am I?"

No, Cloud wants to say, you're not wrong. But there are some things that he prefers to keeps to himself. His mind flashes through the past.

To when he was eleven and he stabbed his parent's murderer in a mixture of panic and rage; he left him bleeding in the rain. To months later when a gang of teenagers tried to rob him in his sleep; he killed two before they ran away. To when he was thirteen and his ability awakened; he still sees the girl and her friend as they harassed him, beat him; he still feels the wrath that coursed through him; still feels the heat of the fire as it exploded around him and burned them alive. It goes on. He hates, hates, hates thinking of this, because then he questions himself, he thinks of who else should be on the list.

Because then, he wonders if he should add the Fairs. He wonders if he's responsible for that, responsible for both his and Aerith's pain, responsible for the death of his family.

Cloud stands up all of the sudden. It startles James and he drops the damn box of granola.

"I should go. I need enough for a month," Cloud says, no emotion in his voice.

It takes James a moment to move. "Yeah, no problem." He disappears inside the building. Cloud takes the time to compose himself.

It's because of the anniversary of their deaths, he tells himself—that's why he's thinking of this—it was last week, he's still drained from the emotional rollercoaster of it. He breathes in and out, repeatedly, evenly. When he picks up the box that James dropped and lays it on the patio table, he leaves a singed imprint on the cardboard.

He hears James come back and turns around. The small bottle of mako pills trades hands, and Cloud shoves it into his jacket's pocket. He zips it up to makes sure it won't fall.

"No injections?"

Cloud shakes his head. "I still have back-ups. I need to go. Thanks."

"Buddy—" James begins as Cloud's starts to leave. "Sorry," he goes on, quiet.

A tendril of guilt crawls up Cloud's throat. "Don't worry about it. Thanks again," he says with a wave.

James doesn't call to him again as he walks away, and Cloud feels like a fool. He's angry, he realizes. Angry at James for bringing the topic up. Angry at the world for making him what he is today. Angry at Tifa for her plain goodbye this morning. He's angry at Shinra for so many things, he doesn't even count them anymore. Mostly, he's angry at himself for never doing what's right, for playing it safe, for being afraid.

He doesn't want to be afraid. He understands that he is and that he should be, but he doesn't want to be. He's tired of it.

There's no relief in hiding from the past, he thinks on the train ride home. That's what his conversation with James, what his overreaction taught him. What's the point of being stuck in it if it only drags you down?

Cloud sighs as he gets off the train. It's time him and Aerith have a talk.

—


	6. Chapter six

—

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

—

6

—

 _The fire won't stop bursting out of him._

 _It doesn't matter how much he wills it to stop, doesn't matter how much he wants it, needs it to stop. Flames manifest from his hands at every movement._

 _There are tears streaming down his face, and he chokes on his silent cries._

This can't be, this can't be, this can't—

 _Outside, soldiers are looking for him. The sound of orders being yelled is faint, but it alerts him to danger. He's holed up in the windowless basement of an abandoned building. It's the safest place he found while running away._

 _They're searching for him—for a Carrier. For a murderer._

 _He killed two kids earlier. The fire consumed them and their screams. They don't ring in his ears; right now, all he can hear are the soldiers. But in time the screams will return to haunt him._

 _A loud noise makes him jump and the sharp move has flames shooting from his hand. That's enough, he thinks, enough, enough, enough. There's a rock lying near him, and he picks it up. The impulse to bring it down over and over on his hand is stronger than him; he doesn't hesitate; he wants it to_ stop _._

 _The pain is wretched, more intense than he'd expected, but in his panic, he didn't notice one side of the rock is jagged. Blood gushes from his mangled hand; in a haze, he realizes he might have broken something. But his mind is suddenly calm and there is no fire anymore._

 _His body won't hold him up and he collapses on his side, almost passing out. The tears won't stop but he doesn't wipe them away. He cradles his hand to his chest; the action makes him cry out. He stays like that until the sound of the soldiers fades away and all that's left is the muted racket of the slums. The throbbing pain lessens as time goes by, but he still can't flex his fingers without getting dizzy._

 _He's alone. Completely alone._

 _The thought hits him with an incomparable force and knocks all logic out of him._

 _He can't do this._

 _He doesn't know how to control this. How to hide it. How to use it._

 _It shouldn't have manifested—he's too old, his parents didn't carry the gene._

 _The sobs rack through him, jostling his hand; his shouts of pain join those of frustration. The intensity of the anger coursing through him is violent and staggering. He wonders why this happened to him, but then he laughs. It's an ugly and despairing sound._

 _If this fire was given to him, he has no choice but to take it. He'll take it, and he'll use it._

 _He'll burn this city to the ground._

—

The occasion for Cloud to speak with Aerith comes a day later. A long time ago, they got into the habit of going out to eat somewhere nice once a month. Sector 6 and 7 has an abundance of restaurants and bars, some in a better state than others, and they made it their mission to discover the best places. It started as a mundane way to get back into a normal life after the Fairs died, but the tradition is still going strong years later.

At first, Cloud isn't sure if he should bring up the topic on their outing. It is, after all, supposed to be a time for them to have fun and relax, and the conversation he is planning is anything but. Still, he has to get it over with before he loses his nerve. The temptation to ignore this urge pulls at him; dismissing it means nothing changes and, really, is that so bad?

"You're looking awfully glum," Aerith comments as they enter the breakfast restaurant they'd chosen for this month.

The waitress has them seated before he can reply, and Cloud says nothing, hoping the subject will drop. No such luck.

"Well?" Aerith has on an amused expression as she looks at him with questions in her eyes.

He knows she is worried, so he finally answers, "I'm okay. Didn't sleep too well." Which is true; he tossed and turned in anticipation.

"Uh-huh. If you say so."

She brings the menu up, hiding her face, and that's when he realizes that she knows something's coming. There is tension in every line of her body.

Cloud pushes the menu back down, exposing her. She glares at him.

"Why are you looking at the menu?"

"That's how people choose what they'll eat, Cloud."

He rolls his eyes. "You always take the same thing."

The menu snaps up, concealing her again. "Maybe I want a change."

"Aerith," he sighs, a little exasperated.

He's about to go on, but he spots the waitress heading for their table. Coffee is served, and she asks them if they're ready to order. They both order their usual, and she leaves.

"Thought you wanted a change."

She leans her chin on her hand. "I like waffles too much." Her brow furrows. "So what happened the other night?"

Cloud groans, afraid she'll freak out. This only makes her more suspicious; her eyes narrow.

"Okay, well—"

"I won't like this, will I?"

He licks his lip, a nervous tick of his. "No."

To his surprise, her body relaxes, and she falls back in the chair, arms crossed. "Well, you're all right and that's what matters."

Seeing an escape from this conversation, Cloud takes it. He doesn't really feel like revisiting these events, anyway.

"How's the business at the bakery?"

Aerith throws him a knowing look at his subject change, but lets it slide, answering his question. It's going okay, she says; the owner's still a bitch, she says. Cloud only half-listens, instead focusing on what's coming. He's terrified, but can't let that get him down.

The food arrives, and they eat in silence for a while. Aerith is sharp, observant, and he knows she sees right through him. Her quietness is a signal for him to speak. The words won't come at first, and when they do, he regrets not having practiced them more.

"We need to talk."

Aerith sips her coffee. "Then talk." Her tone is flat. She's expected this. It's been a long time coming.

"It's been six years," he says softly. "We've never really discussed what happened."

Her eyes drift to the side. "That's because there's nothing left to discuss."

He can't believe he's about to say this. "What about Zack?"

Aerith gently sets down the cup of coffee; she brings her hands under the table and he bets it's so he doesn't see their shaking.

"I don't want to talk about Zack."

Their voices stay low.

"You should."

"Why, Cloud? Why should I? Why today?"

He gulps. "Because I'm tired of ghosts, Sunshine."

She has nothing to say to that for a couple of minutes. The waitress is back and takes away their plates.

He tries again. "Aerith, we can't spend the rest of our lives avoiding this. I know how hurt you were—still are."

"I think we should head home," is all she answers.

Cloud agrees. He's also aware that it means she's ready to talk and it won't be pretty. A public space isn't suited for what they need to say.

He pays and they head out. The walk back is quick and uncomfortable. They get inside the church and Cloud locks the door behind them. Aerith removes her jacket and throws it on the couch. Her irritation fuels his.

He snaps at her. "Look, Sunshine, I don't _want_ to have this conversation either, but we need to."

"I don't get it!" She whirls around. "Why do you want to bring all this—this _pain_ back?"

"It's been _six_ years, Aerith, and we can't even talk about it."

"There's nothing to talk about," she says again.

"Will you stop saying that?" He runs a hand through his hair.

"It's the truth!" She yells. "There's _literally_ nothing left. It all burned to the ground!"

"I know, I was there," he replies; his tone is sharper than he wants it to be. He needs to stay calm.

Aerith opens her mouth but nothing comes out. She paces. Cloud stays rooted where he is.

"Look, let's get something straight. Zack—"

"I don't want to hear it," she interrupts.

But he continues. "Zack is—"

"I _don't_ want to hear it!"

"Well, you need to, Sunshine! You keep pretending—"

She comes to a sudden halt. His stomach twists at the sight of her tears. "Pretending? You think I don't _know_ they're dead? Everyone's dead, Cloud! Everyone but you and me!" Her voice breaks. "Zack should be with us."

"We can't change that." He wishes they could. Oh, how he wishes they could.

"We could have," she hisses, remorseless. " _You_ could have."

Cloud stiffens. "Oh, _don't_."

Aerith wipes at her tears, her movements jerky. "You want to _talk_ , Cloud? Let's fucking talk! You could have held Zack back as he ran back inside. You could have tried to control the fire! You could—"

"You're being unfair; you know you are." He hates the way his voice weakens. He hates that he can't truly defend himself because he sometimes tells himself the same things.

"You could have been more careful!"

At this, his composure fissures. "We don't know it was me who lead them to the Fairs."

Aerith lets out a frenzied laugh. "You were so _fixated_ on this—this personal revenge of yours, Cloud, that you were careless. Zack wasn't a Carrier, so it sure wasn't him."

"His parents were," he croaks. "It could have been them."

"Do you believe that?"

No, he wants to say, he doesn't believe that. These accusations aren't new, not really. They've been swirling in his mind for years now, but hearing them from Aerith is a blow he can barely absorb. This is good, he tries to remind himself, it's what he wanted. Their true sentiments aired out once and for all. Still, it hurts. Damn, it hurts.

"Do you even care?" Aerith continues, defeat seeping into her voice.

Her words hit him so hard that he takes a step forward. There is a vicious anger within him now. He recognizes it; he used to revel in it years ago. It makes many, many things surface and they all dance on the tip of his tongue. Things she's said, things she's done, things she hasn't. That's the problem with family; you know too much about them, and it's so, so easy to throw it all back to them.

Of course he cares—that's what he wants to say but those words get pushed back down. No, he doesn't want to justify himself. He wants to hurt her as she hurt him. The realization dims some of his resentment, but it still burns strong.

He ends up saying, "Why would you think that?"

She's pacing again. "Because you act like you don't!"

"We all grieve differently, Aerith," Cloud spits out. He's glad he took mako this morning; his emotions are spiralling out of control. "I did, you didn't. You're the one stuck in the past."

"They were my family!" Her scream is punctuated by a sob, and despite his anger, it breaks his heart.

"They were mine, too!"

Aerith whispers through her tears, "How could you want me to forget them?"

"I'm not asking you to forget, I'm telling you to _move on_." When she stays silent, Cloud goes on. He softens his tone, hoping to get through her. "You said it, it's only the two of us now. We only have the other left, Aerith." He exhales his fears and they hover between them. His anger has been suppressed and all that remains is sadness and a shadow of bitterness. "We can't keep blaming each other for what happened. Where is that gonna lead us?"

"Cloud—" Her breath hitches. "I hate myself for it but I _can't_. I can't forgive that you didn't even _try_. No," she exclaims as he makes a move to stride off. "You don't understand! You and Zack, you were like brothers. It was different for me." Her voice cracks, but he's past pity. All the negativity he repressed rushes back, overwhelming him. He can't take this anyway, he just can't.

"Your mess of a relationship with Zack wasn't my problem," he says roughly. "You think I don't care? That I don't understand? You know I fucking do!" He swipes a hand through the air, and for once, he almost regrets the absence of fire. "I'm done reasoning with you. I'm done clinging to the past. So you do whatever the fuck you want, Sunshine, but don't ask me to live with ghosts; that's not how we survive."

Cloud doesn't wait for an answer. He adds, "I'm going out," and as he spins on his heels. Staying here won't do any good.

He walks away.

—

 _You're pretty vicious when you want to win_

James' words echo in Cloud's mind as he dodges a punch. He's in the underground for the second time this week. Tonight's opponent—Souza—is quick on his feet and fights with all he's got. It's a welcome challenge, but victory is still too easy. One swift, low sweep of his legs and the guy falls down, all breath knocked out of him. Cloud's certain Souza hit his head when he twitches uncontrollably. The crowd roars; they like it when things go south. Jeff declares him the winner, but when he looks at Cloud, there's apprehension in his eyes. Cloud couldn't care less. He breaks away from the crowd and heads for the fighters' room.

This is not enough, he thinks. What he wants is a real fight, one where he hurts and bleeds, where he doesn't have to hold back his blows. It's not something he'll find here. He tried, though; this is his seventh night here since him and Aerith fought three weeks ago. They haven't made up, not yet. He wonders how things between them can ever go back to the way they were.

The door behind him opens and in comes Jeff, who stands several feet away. Cloud turns his back on him, unwrapping his hands.

"Souza's gonna have to go to a clinic," Jeff says, careful. "Seems like you gave him a bad concussion."

"It's an illegal fighting ring," is all Cloud answers.

"With _rules_. He had a seizure, man. Looks serious."

"My bad." They both know he doesn't mean it.

Cloud puts on a clean shirt and shoves everything in his backpack. Jeff doesn't budge as he makes a move to exit the room.

"Listen, man… You know I love having you here; you rake in a lot. But I can't have you incapacitating the others like that. Bad business."

"What are you saying, Jeff?" Cloud asks, already exasperated by this conversation.

"I'm saying you should take a break. You've been fighting too much recently and you're out of it. I get that accidents happen, but this wasn't one."

Cloud rubs his cheek. "Whatever. Just give me my cut and I'm out of here."

Jeff's posture straightens. "Hey, my underground, my rules. You don't like, you peace the fuck out." He's silent as he counts Cloud's share of the money and hands it to him. "Next time I see you, make sure you've fixed that shit attitude of yours."

Cloud doesn't even count the money; he pockets it and gives him a lazy smile. "Sure thing, boss."

"You're a fucking dick," Jeff calls out as he leaves.

Now in an even fouler mood, Cloud follows suit. He ignores all the eyes on him; people wait for another fight to start and have nothing better to do in the meantime. Some girl and her friends walk up to him, but he swerves at the last second, bypassing them and dismissing their muttered swears.

Once he's outside, he takes a second to check his phone. The delivery service he works for sent in a request for him to show up on his day off. No other messages. He hears the metal door behind slam open. It's his only sign before he's pushed into the brick wall to his right. His phone and bag land on the ground; he barely has the time to bring his arm up to protect his head. The punch that comes next is lightning-fast, and this time it's his face that smacks against the rough brick. He bites the inside of his lip from the impact, and the iron taste of blood floods his mouth. Someone grabs him by the throat, pinning him against the wall.

Facing him are four men, all of them some variation of the tall-and-burly type. He recognizes one of them as another fighter and a friend of Souza; the others seem like they'd be regulars. Cloud faintly recalls the warning that man had given him over a month ago. That his winning streak was attracting unwanted attention. He smirks through the blood in his mouth. This is the fight he's been looking for.

Smugness drips from one of the men's voice. "He's tinier than I expected."

Cloud refrains from rolling his eyes. Sure, he's not _that_ tall, especially compared to his attackers. But these insults fly ten feet over his head.

"What is it?" He drawls. "Did you place a bad bet?"

He gets a hit right above the stomach as an answer. It's a powerful and precise strike, meant to stop his breathing. It's a move Cloud knows and uses quite often. His lungs constrict as he tries to inhale. After a few seconds, he feels the air rushing in. He lets out a gasping laugh. These guys want to take their time, or they'd have jumped on him while he couldn't defend himself.

"Guessing that's a yes," he wheezes.

The man lets him go, and Cloud slumps against the wall. Another punch comes his way, but this time, he sees it and dodges at the last second. The man yells out as his fist crashes into the brick, most likely breaking some bones. Cloud ducks under his arm, bringing out his switchblade to his side. He sees another man try to sneak up behind him, and he twists out of the way, bringing the blade up at a specific angle. A scream as it slashes deeply through the man's cheek towards his ear. Damn it, he'd wanted to go for his eye, but the man's height made him miss. Droplets of blood splatter over him from the gushing cut. He'd forgotten how much head wounds bleed.

Cloud kicks the injured man into the one cradling his hand, and they both tumble. He feels the third man coming at him from behind, and before he can move out of the way, an arm comes around his throat. Cloud's reflexes have him bring down his chin and grab the forearm choking him, almost cutting himself with the knife he's still holding. This man is not a fighter, Cloud realizes; his hold is weak and clumsy. Taking him down will be easy. He hunches forward and in a swift move, stabs the man in the thigh, a little above the knee. His attacker bends over from the pain, slackening his hold, and Cloud pulls out the knife and slams his elbow upwards, striking the guy's chin. He joins his friends on the ground, moaning as he attempts to stop the bleeding.

Cloud is crouching. The blows to his plexus and head made him dizzy, and he's breathing harder than he should be. He glares ahead to the only man left—Souza's friend—who's kept his distance so far, watching the skirmish go down. They've faced each other in the ring a long time ago; Cloud can't remember who won. He wipes the blood from his blade on the closest man's pants, and then stands up, movements slow. From the corner of his vision, he notices the first man, the one who punched the wall, getting to his feet.

Cloud spits out the blood that gathered in his mouth. "That's it?" He chuckles.

He knows he shouldn't be antagonizing them. It won't bring him anything other than more pain. But in this instant, Cloud relishes said pain. He craves it; he wants to inflict it.

"All right, kids, it's enough."

They all startle at the intrusion. Cloud allows his eyes to stray from his attackers towards the source of the voice. It's the older man who warned him. He's holding a phone as if he'd been taking a video.

The man brings his cigarette to his mouth and speaks around it. "Whatever will Jeff say when I show him this?" He waves the phone around.

Cloud sees Souza's friend go pale. Jeff takes his damn rules seriously and attacking a fighter outside the ring is one of them. Going against them can get you thrown out of the underground. Many people there need the money from the bets to afford their lifestyles.

"We're not in the actual underground," the other fighter argues.

"And you think he's gonna give a shit about that? You're right above it." He points his chin towards Cloud. "You'll all get banned."

Cloud says nothing, sensing that the man wants to help him. Instead, he redirects his gaze to the other men. The two standing up are helping their friends to their feet. Souza's friend is tense, and his scowl is thunderous. They don't fight back, not willing to risk it. As they stride off, Cloud can't resist another remark.

"Hey!" Souza's friend turns around. Cloud gives him a wolfish smile. "Give Souza my regards."

The man curses but keeps on walking away.

Cigarette still in his mouth, the older man examines Cloud.

"You're a mess, kid."

"Whatever," Cloud mutters. Blood trickles down his chin, and he wipes it with his jacket's sleeve. He puts the blade away and picks up his phone and backpack. A web of cracks run through the phone's screen; it glitches as he tries to use it. Great.

The older man approaches him, wary. "You okay?"

Cloud's first thought is to send him away, but he's exhausted and still feeling light-headed.

"Yeah," he replies. "I'll be fine."

The man puts out his finished cigarette on the brick wall. "What's your name, kid?"

"Fair," is Cloud's automatic answer.

"Your real name, kid."

"Don't call me that," Cloud snaps.

Eyebrows high on his forehead, the man crosses his arms. He looks clean-cut, with his hair neatly combed and nice clothes, but also dishevelled; his collar is rumpled, his fingernails are dirty, and he has grime staining his hands. A mechanic, Cloud guesses.

"I don't know your name, _kid_ , so I have to call you something."

Cloud releases a long sigh as he rubs his forehead, hoping to lessen the throbbing. "Fine. I'm Cloud."

The man nods. "Cid. Now come on, I'll bring you to a place you can get cleaned up."

"Not interested."

But Cid doesn't give him a choice. He claps him on the back, a little too hard to be friendly, and shoves him forward.

"Did I fucking ask?"

Cid stalks off, glancing back to make sure Cloud is following. For a short moment, Cloud hesitates. What's waiting for him at home, anyway? More arguing? Silence?

"Hey, _kid_ , tic-toc! I want my drink before the sun rises."

What the hell, Cloud thinks—he could definitely use a drink.

—

 **A/N:** Thank you for the kind reviews!

 **Fantasies and Realities:** I just wanted to clarify that, since this is AU, here mako is just a drug used to suppress abilities. So no mako showers/in the atmosphere or anything like that! : )


	7. Chapter seven

**A/N:** Long one! This is basically two chapters in one. Enjoy!

—

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

—

7

—

The first thing Cloud notices about the bar Cid stops in front of is how popular it is. There are people streaming in and out, crowding the sidewalk, and the music blasting from the inside is way too loud. He doesn't know what he expected as it's a Friday night and nearing midnight, but he might kind of regret his choice to follow Cid.

He gets some inquisitive looks thrown his way, and he remembers he's got blood all over him. Not that strange of an occurrence in the poorer Sectors, but it still attracts too much attention for his taste. Someone bumps into him, and Cloud shoves the man away with his shoulder, irritated. It's way too packed and they're not even inside yet. He should go home.

Cid predicts his intentions and wraps an arm around his shoulders, steering him towards the short stairs leading to the bar. Cloud shrugs him off, but Cid only chuckles.

"Don't run away just yet." Then, voice low, "You can't go around looking like that."

The goodwill behind Cid's words strikes Cloud, and he relents. It's true that crossing the Sector 6 checkpoint while bloody would raise too many questions.

Cid stops in his tracks right as they're about to climb the stairs. He waves at someone coming up to their side.

"Hey, Tifa."

Cloud freezes. He twists his head. It _is_ the same Tifa he met weeks ago, but she's also different. Her clothes aren't the fancy kind she'd worn last time, replaced with ripped jeans, combat boots, and an oversized jacket. She looks like a Sector 7 resident. He likes this better, and the thought makes him glance away. She jerks when she takes in his state.

"What happened to _him_?"

Cid ruffles his hair, and goddamn it, Cloud is fucking tired of being touched. He breaks away without a word.

"He got ambushed in an alley. Do you—"

But Tifa's eyes dart around, distracted, and she cuts Cid off. "We'll talk later. I need to see Barret." She walks past them and into the bar.

Cid stares after her, perplexed, but he recovers fast.

"Come on," he says, "let's go."

Holding in a sigh, Cloud trails behind him. The inside is swarming with people. Cid leads them to the bar where he plops down on the one vacant stool.

"Restrooms are down the hall," he tells Cloud while gesturing to the bartender.

It's warm in the men's restroom, and Cloud is suffocating. He tosses his jacket next to the sink; it's black, so the blood splattered all over it doesn't show up too much. Luckily, only the collar area of his light grey t-shirt is stained. It won't be too obvious if he zips up the jacket. His face and hair, however, are a mess. A bad bruise is forming where he was punched. The cheek that hit the brick wall has shallow scrapes covering it. He takes the time to wash his hair in the sink and to scrub at the dried blood over his neck and face. A man comes in and stares at him. Cloud glares; the man scurries into a stall.

Once his appearance is passable, he goes back to join Cid, who somehow secured a second stool next to him. A glass of what Cloud guesses is whiskey waits for him, and he takes a gulp as he sits down. It burns down his throat, reminding him he's not a big fan of alcohol. But for the first time in what seems like forever, he feels like drinking, like getting wasted. Another swallow of the drink; this one reminds him of his low alcohol tolerance. He'd better take it slow.

"Drink up!" Cid elbows him in the ribs. "The night is young."

Cloud puts the glass down, not wanting to get lost in a haze too quickly. "It's past midnight."

"Exactly."

It turns out Cid is unable to shut up, not caring who listens and who answers. Five minutes drag into twenty, and Cloud is seriously considering running away. He makes a subtle move to grab his bag lying at his feet, but Cid spreads his arms wide, almost smacking Cloud in the nose.

Cid yells, "Barret! What a surprise!"

Curious, Cloud aborts his let's-run-out mission and twists his head around. At the edge of the bar is an enormous man fiddling with a TV remote. He waves their way over his shoulder and then turns to ask someone a question. It's Tifa, now wearing a tight black shirt with 7TH HEAVEN embroidered in white on the left side. She turns on the TV hanging in a corner above the bar, smirking at Barret, then comes to join the other bartender. When she passes by Cloud, she smiles. It's faint and hesitant, but he'll take it. He nods, and she moves on to the first customer.

Distracted, Cloud ignores Cid's loud chatter. Three weeks ago, he never thought he'd see her again, and didn't bother dealing with what he felt when they parted ways. He'd found her a little weird and secretive, but he'd also liked her, liked that she was someone he could talk openly with about being a Carrier. That was what had angered him, he realizes, that she'd dismissed their common experience so easily.

"Turn on the sound!"

The shout comes from behind Cloud and is followed by a decrease in noise. A man swerves through people and tables, coming to stand in front of the TV.

"Turn on the sound," he says again.

Barret signals to Tifa and soon the music cuts off, replaced by the voice of a news reporter. Cloud looks up at the screen.

"—in Sector 4, where the targeted structure collapsed. The fire spread to surrounding buildings. Luckily, the location was evacuated on time—"

The room is at once silent, all eyes on the TV. On the screen, the images switch from the reporter to an overhead view of the site. Cloud is taken aback by the scale of the wreck, and it registers that this wasn't an accident. 'Targeted' is what the announcer said. His hands tighten on his glass.

"—the recently vacated plant was the property of Shinra Corp, specifically Rufus Shinra. In an impromptu address, President Shinra called for order, but also for help from the citizens."

A groan of distaste on Cloud's left makes him throw a quick glance at Cid, who looks ready for murder. Rufus Shinra's voice resounds through the TV, and he redirects his attention to it. Mid-thirties, well groomed, and impeccably dressed, the President of Shinra Corp stares at the camera with solemn eyes. Cloud ignores the muttered, "I hate that fucker," coming from Cid.

"What we've taken away from this act is that there are high changes we are dealing with an organized group," Rufus Shinra says. His voice is smooth and serene like he's barely inconvenienced by the events. He leans back a little, the picture of confidence. "We're already narrowing down on probable location and identities, and it's only a matter of time before they are in custody. However, to facilitate our military's task, we ask that any suspicions should be reported immediately." He raises his head and points at something off-screen.

"President Shinra," comes the rushed voice of a reporter, "do you believe this is the work of Carriers?"

Cloud does his best not to look in Tifa's direction.

"It's a possibility we're looking into."

The image switches back to the reporter. "As President Shinra said, cooperation from Midgard residents is highly encouraged. To speed up the process, the military released this photo from the scene. Any sighting of this symbol should be reported to your nearest station."

A murmur runs through the crowd as said photo takes up the screen. It's so dark, Cloud has to squint to make out the details. Someone used spray paint to draw on a wall; it's an A that continues into a V as if it painted in one stroke. The A appears stylized into a mountain. It's simple, a signature that can be done quickly and not requiring artistic talent.

The first notes of a well-known Shinra advert jingle play, and a chorus of "Turn it off! Put the game on!" echoes all around. Music turns back on; the screen now displays a muted sports game no one wants to watch. Cloud sends Tifa a furtive look, but she's busy with a customer. He gulps down what's left of his drink, frustrated by Rufus Shinra' non-specific answer regarding Carriers. It's a temporary way to direct the blame, sure, but all it really does is fuel the hate and fear. To observe the room, he turns the stool around, leaning an elbow on the bar.

He's not sure what he expected, but about a third of the patrons cheering wasn't it. They appear so careless and it strikes Cloud as dangerous. That's when he notices the other two thirds slowly paying their bills and exiting. The ones left are boisterous and excited, talking over each other; Cloud catches pieces here and there, words like 'rebels' and 'change'. He runs a hand through his hair, thinking this kind of talk must be why the others left in a hurry, not want to risk being guilty by association. On his end, Cloud just appreciates the reduction of noise.

Someone taps on the wood counter behind him. He twists around.

"Hey," Tifa says. She points at his glass. "You want another?"

He debates with himself. He's here already so why not? "I'll have a beer. Please," he adds when she says nothing. Her smile at this is candid.

"Sorry, I'm just surprised to see you. And in that state, too."

Cloud holds still when she leans forward and grasps his chin. Her touch is light as she moves his head from side to side, checking out the damage. She lets go and grabs something behind the bar. A first aid kit.

"What happened?" She asks while disinfecting her hands, then prepping antiseptic and cotton pads.

"You don't have to do that."

The look she sends him is mocking. "Are you afraid of the sting?"

Despite himself, Cloud chuckles but doesn't protest more when she reaches out again and runs the pad on the scratches. He suppressed a wince. "Thank you."

Tifa smiles. "Looks good now."

Once everything is put away and she's washed her hands, she brings him the beer he'd ordered.

"Do I open a tab?"

Cloud hesitates for a second. He shrugs. "Sure."

"So?" She rests her elbows on the bar.

"So what?" He answers, hoping to dodge her question.

She gestures at his general state. Cloud tries to deflect one more time. "Shouldn't you be working?"

"We're two and there's barely anyone left." Her hand waves around. "Biggs can handle it for a while."

The other bartender—Biggs, he supposes—glares their way. Ignoring him, Tifa stares at Cloud, expectant.

Cloud doesn't know what to say, where to start. His rage, his recklessness from earlier tonight—they stem from weeks ago, months ago, years ago. Simply saying he got into a fight sounds dishonest to his ears.

"I fight in the underground," he finally says. He licks his lips. "Do you know—"

She nods.

"I do well there." He takes a drink of his beer. "It makes some people angry."

"Isn't it risky?" Her head tilts to the side. "All things considered."

Her question recalls the night they spent holed up, when he revealed how his emotions affected his ability. There's no way he can give a straight answer in here, so he says, "It's a controlled environment. Anyway," he continues, not wanting to linger on this aspect of the discussion, "Cid showed up when things were looking bad."

"Cid has a big heart." Tifa's eyes drift over his shoulder, and he turns to see Cid yelling and laughing with a group of men at a table. Cloud hadn't even noticed he'd gone over. "He's got his own way of helping people."

There's a story behind her statement, but he doesn't ask what it is.

"Well, I should get working. Let me know if you want anything else." She stands straight and smiles. Cloud takes it in. She smiles a lot, he realizes, and he likes that; it's a welcome change. He nods in acknowledgment, and she's off to serve more customers.

He finishes his drink and orders a new one from the second bartender who puts the glass down with too much force. The alcohol makes his head buzz and his body relax a little. This is when he would typically stop, but fuck it for tonight.

Cid comes back soon enough, and it's obvious he's had quite a few drinks already. The older man removed his coat—Cloud spots it on a couch on the other side of the room—and messily rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. His previously neat hair is dishevelled. He pats Cloud on the back, sitting back down.

"Getting friendly with Tifa, are you?"

Cloud doesn't feel the impulse to shove him away this time. "We've met before."

Cid snorts but keeps his comments to himself. "Hey, come on, finish that." He looks at Cloud's glass. "I want to play darts."

"Then go?"

"Are you rejecting my challenge?"

Cloud narrows his eyes. "You want to play against _me_?"

"Yeah, and I want to win. I bet I would."

He stares at Cid, amused. "You can't win against me."

"Which is why you're gonna give me the advantage and down that."

To his own surprise, Cloud listens. This was a bad idea, he thinks as he goes to get up but forgets that his bag is lying at his feet and that his jacket is draped over his lap. It tangles in his legs as he stands; he stumbles and has to grip the bar to regain his balance. Dizziness overtakes him. Damn it, he should have taken it more slowly.

"Ah, kid, you okay?" Cid clutches his shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," Cloud mumbles. Then, he remembers the bottle of mako stored in his jacket. "I can't leave my stuff here." He picks up his things.

"Leave them behind the bar." Cid sighs when Cloud doesn't budge. "Tifa! Can he put his stuff back there?"

Tifa doesn't bother looking at them. "Sure."

His bag and jacket securely set aside, Cloud joins Cid on the right edge of the room, where about six customers are talking loudly. Introductions are made, but Cloud forgets their names immediately; the only information he bothers hanging on is that they are Cid's acquaintances. Someone shoves another beer in his hands. He waits for the right moment to put it down on a nearby table, aware there's a chance they're trying to weaken him so Cid can win. All right, so he _might_ have a slight competitive streak. Zack and he used to transform everything into a contest. The thought is bitter, so he stops it from growing.

Cid starts throwing and some of his friends cheer, snapping Cloud out of it. The first dart lands an inch left of the bulls-eye. He's not bad; Cloud can tell he's used to playing. Nobody seems to count points though bets have been placed. Cid lands his third dart in the inner ring and takes a huge swing of his liquor in celebration.

"Your turn, kid!"

Cloud gets into position; he wonders for a moment if he should lose the game on purpose. He's got amazing aim, and he knows he can win despite the alcohol running through his system. In the end, he lets his first throw decide for him—outer bulls-eye. Guess he's playing normally. Behind him comes a disgruntled curse, followed by snickering. They alternate turns a few times until Cid gets annoyed of losing and concedes defeat, heading back to a table with his friends.

Cloud stays where he is, swaying on his feet, still throwing darts to entertain himself. While competing, he ended up drinking the beer he'd put aside. His body hums, his ears ring a little, he's flushed, but there is no resentment, no anger, no regrets. He'll take it while it lasts.

Someone comes up to him and lays their hand on his back. It's Tifa; her touch is warm through his worn shirt. He throws his last dart while glancing at her. Her eyes are level with his chin. There's a scent swirling around her, like smoke and bourbon and vanilla; it's as if the smell of the bar enveloped her body, made its home on her skin. It drives him mad, how much he likes it.

"Are you gonna be okay?" She asks in a whisper. This is for his ears only. Her meaning is unclear through his haze.

"Why?"

"Cloud. You know—" Her hand bunches the fabric of his shirt as it tenses. She's so close, and he should back up but he doesn't want to. "Your control could slip."

Oh. That.

Cloud leans in like he's sharing a secret. He kind of is. "Mako." He tilts back to take in her expression.

Tifa blinks at him. Maybe the idea never crossed her mind, or maybe she's disappointed. Why does he care, anyway? But as she lets go of his shirt, he becomes aware that he _does_ care. His line of thinking is jumbled, and he can't discern how he came to or the why of it; he can't tell if it's because it's her or because she's merely another Carrier. All that's clear is that her reaction matters. It should throw him off, but the alcohol sweetens the realization, and so he absorbs it, content with it.

"Are you okay for the night?" Her question is free of criticism, and he's glad for it.

"Yeah."

"All right." She takes a step back to go back to the bar.

He doesn't want her to go. There's something he has to say—what was it again? The world spins when he tries to move fast enough to follow her, so he calls out instead.

"Tifa."

"Yes?"

He signals at her to walk back to his side; she does so, stopping a foot away. A need emerges from within him, unbidden and dazzling—closer, he thinks, please come closer.

"Thank you," he says.

Tifa frowns, puzzled. "For what?"

"Sector 2."

"Oh, no need."

"I didn't that morning. I felt bad." His words come out too fast.

"All right, Cloud, how drunk are you?"

For some reason, he feels compelled to raise his hand and show three fingers.

"Three?" She laughs quietly. "On a scale of how much?"

He unwinds his hand to show five fingers.

Tifa tries to hide her smile. "Take it easy," she says, heading back to the bar counter.

He watches her leave, suddenly mesmerized by the heavy sway of her long hair.

Damn, it might be more of a four.

—

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Cid convinces him to join their table and a couple more drinks find their way into his hands. He keeps accepting them until he collapses on a stool at the bar, unable to stand straight anymore. Most people have left; it's nearing three o'clock. The remaining customers are all around the bar counter area, and the buzzing of their voices makes Cloud's head throb.

He can't remember the last time he got this drunk. Cid is somewhere close, probably to his left from the racket coming that way. Cloud wants to ask him how they'll get home, but the thought flees as soon as he sees Tifa standing across of him. Ah fuck, she's stunning with her dark eyes and dark hair—he can't stop thinking about her hair. He'd noticed her good looks three weeks ago, had found her lovely, but now—now his walls are lowered, destroyed, and the attraction pulls at him. The fierceness of it would have shocked him if he'd been sober; he would have ignored it. But he's far from sober right now.

His staring earns him a questioning glance from Tifa, and he hides his face in his hand; the move makes him unsteady, dizzy, so he has to lean his elbow on the bar not to fall forward.

The noise around him goes up in volume.

"How much did he _drink_?"

He recognizes Cid's booming voice. "Do I look like his babysitter?"

"Did he eat anything?"

"How the fuck should I know? Hey—hey, kid!"

Cloud groans and peeks through his fingers. He glimpses Tifa's expression, all worry.

"You should go lie down," she says softly.

And Cloud—Cloud keeps gazing at her, and slurs, "You're so pretty." Laughter all around, a shouted, "Kid's in love!"; all these sounds blur into each other. He adds, words garbled, "I love your hair."

His neck won't support his head anymore, and he drops it over his arms on the counter. He closes his eyes.

"All right, everyone out. I'm closing."

There's a chorus of no's and come-on's, but then everything becomes muddled and Cloud's head hurts and the world spins even in the darkness. He can't tell how much time passes, doesn't care anyway, but there is a sudden, roaring _noise_ that drives him fucking crazy. He manages to raide his head. His mind cleared a bit, and when his gaze drifts to the hanging clock, he sees it's past four o'clock. Did he fall asleep? He blinks, sluggish, as he tries to get to his feet. A sweep of the emptied room reveals Cid's snoring is the source of the noise; he's lying on a couch on the far side of the bar.

"Back from the dead?"

Cloud glances left.

"I don't think so," he tells Tifa, voice hoarse. He feels like shit. "I should…" What is it he needs to do again? Oh, yeah. "Home. I should—head home."

"Yeah, I dont't think so. Not in this state. Come on," she says as she approaches him and takes his hand.

He lets himself be led towards the second couch; putting a foot in front of the other causes the dizziness to reappear, and it's a miracle he doesn't trip. He drops on the sofa, sighing at the effort. Cid's snoring is terrible from this close, but Cloud doesn't have the will to move anymore. Tifa sits on the edge. The lights are dimmed, his vision unfocused, and he can't make out her features.

He passes out.

—

Regret spears through Cloud when he opens his eyes, disoriented. It takes a moment for him to recall where he is, what happened. His head hurts, he can't move his limbs, his mouth is dry—yeah, all right, he has a hangover. He's never had a high alcohol tolerance and he must have blasted through it last night. Somehow, he regains control of his body and sits up.

Wisps of grey daylight illuminate the bar. To his left, Cid is still sleeping, buried beneath a blanket. Damned old man for encouraging him to drink so much. Cloud is tempted to rip off the blanket off him out of pettiness. Instead, he steadies his legs, gets up and makes his way to the bar counter where he'd left his stuff earlier. The wall clock says it's nine thirty, and Cloud gets a sudden flash of panic. His phone broke yesterday, and he never called Aerith—despite their fight, he knows she'll be out of her mind. As he gets near a stool, nausea grips him, making his legs shake, and he has to lean against the bar.

"If you're gonna be sick, go down the hall."

Tifa speaks with a low voice, obviously aware of his absurd headache. Cloud's eyes drift to his right, but he can't lift his head, and all he sees are her booted feet and a broom. He waits until the wave of sickness passes before answering, afraid something else will come out of his mouth.

"Hi," he croaks.

He hears the broom being propped against the wall, then footsteps coming his way. Her hand lands on his arm.

"Sit down." He listens. "Waffles or toasts?"

The question takes him by surprise, and he blinks, still staring at the countertop. "What?"

"That's all I have for breakfast. Frozen waffles or plain bread. I'd go for the waffles."

Not caring either way, he says, "Sure."

He listens to her go in what he assumes is the kitchen. She comes back not too long after and drops a plate and a huge bottle of water in front of him. The food is dismissed as he reaches for the water and downs it. Tifa laughs; it's different from the quiet one he heard during the night. He finds himself liking the free and easy sound of it. Maybe he's still drunk.

Tifa comes to sit on his left, and he can finally raise his head to glance at her. She's made of darkness today—black leather skirt, black tights, black shirt. It's a forceful contrast against her pale skin. Her hair is swept over her shoulder in a thick braid—

Oh, shit. Her hair.

He said something embarrassing about it, didn't he? The exact words escape him, but he knows he did. His mind races trying to figure it out as he busies himself with his food. Damn it. He hates his drunk self. By the time he's done eating, there is a remark from the previous night dancing in his head. Did he _really_ say—nope, can't be. Right? Right. But when he looks back at Tifa, she's hiding a sly smile behind her hand.

Ah fuck. He did.

The realization he blurted out his love for her hair reddens his cheeks, and he clears his throat.

"So—mako?" Tifa asks, voice hushed.

That's not what he expected. Cloud side-eyes the corner where Cid sleeps.

"Yeah," he answers just as cautiously. "Makes things easier since—well, you know."

She nods. Cid stirs and groans, and they both freeze, but he turns on his side and resumes sleeping. Tifa relaxes first.

"A discussion for another day," she says.

The implication they'll meet again doesn't fly past Cloud. And he can't say why, but it stirs something in him. Feeling bold, he lets his gaze glide over her and settle on her braid. She notices; of course, she does.

"You said something interesting last night." There is a twinkle in her eyes.

Does he want to take part in this game? Yes, he realizes, he wants to.

"Did I?"

A corner of her lips curls with amusement and mischief. He's done for.

"You said—" She leans forward, close enough that his heartbeat hastens. "You said I was _so_ pretty." She's holding in laughter.

Wait, what? He doesn't remember _that_.

Tifa continues. "I liked the other thing you said better." She rests her elbow on the bar and crosses her legs. She's enjoying this, believing she's cornered him. All right, he thinks as he recovers from his surprise, he can play, too.

He catches even himself unaware when he reaches out a hand and gently takes hold of the tail of her braid, rubbing the strands. Tifa stays still, but the tension soon leaves her shoulders. She's close enough, he can hear her breath hitch.

"Did you?" Cloud says, doing his best to appear unflustered. Inside, he's a mess. When was the last time he liked a girl?

Tifa blinks several times as if she can't understand what he asked. Then, she remembers her previous words, and her confidence emerges anew. She smoothly undoes her braid, combing her fingers through the strands to untangle them. Then, she gathers her hair and twists around in her seat. Cloud takes in her muscled back, exposed by the low cut of her shirt. She lets go of her hair and it cascades over her back. The ends fall below the stool.

He stares, unmoving. All sort of thoughts run through his mind and he can't stop them, can't stop from drowning in them. He imagines his hand running through the thick strands, gathering them at her neck; he imagines tendrils caressing his skin as she'd lean over him; he imagines darkness as the dense waterfall of hair would tumble down around them.

When his fingers brush through the silky locks, Cloud feels dazed. He's not sure what to do next; he gets the impression of being a teenager with a crush. Tifa angles her head slightly to the side, breaking his trance, and he lets her hair slip from his hand. Her face is barely visible to him, but he can see she's not smiling. One of her hands comes to grip her shoulder at the base of her neck. She's nervous. Behind all of her composure and confident flirting, she's just as nervous as he is.

She waits a few seconds before swivelling her seat around to face him again. Cloud stays silent, unsure of what he _should_ say or do.

Tifa gives him a kind smile. "I don't want to throw you out, but if Barret comes back and you're still here…"

Cloud doesn't care to find out. "Yeah, I need to head back, anyway." He stands, and he's glad that all dizziness faded away, though he's still weak. As he grabs his stuff, he waits for the disappointment at her dismissal to course through him, but it never shows up; it didn't feel like a goodbye this time.

He shrugs his jacket on and he's about to grab his backpack when he slows his movement down. Last time, he didn't know how to part, but today—today is different.

Cloud steps in front of her. He's not tall; sitting down on the bar stools, she's almost the same height as him. Still, Tifa has to tilt her head back to look him in the eyes. Hers glitter with awareness and anticipation, and the sight unearths his determination.

"Can I see you again?" He murmurs.

There's her sly smile again. "You know where I live."

He'd expected her answer; it soothes him nonetheless. "All right." He says it as if he's leaving, but he doesn't.

Tifa's smile grows, and he counts the seconds until she speaks again. "Are you gonna kiss me?"

He kind of really wants to. He inhales sharply. "I want to," he ends up admitting.

She's already so, so close, all he needs to do is slant his head forward. There's a beat as he touches his lips to her smile, and then her palm presses again his chest, sliding up towards his shoulder. It's a soft, lazy kiss. He brings his hand to her neck, into her hair, dipping her head back a little. There's no way this is happening, he thinks as she sighs into him; he's definitely still drunk. But no, he understands this is real as he breaks away, just far enough to say he's not kissing her anymore—he knows he's not dreaming as she ghosts her fingers over his throat, and he swallows hard at the sensation.

"You have blood on your shirt," Tifa whispers. The action makes her lips graze his, and he can't resist kissing her again.

"It wouldn't wash off," he replies against her mouth.

Cloud senses her lips curl before she pulls back. With great reluctance, he loosens his hold on her neck and brings his hand to his side. Hers is still playing with the collar of his shirt, and she arranges his jacket so that the blood is hidden.

"Be careful at the checkpoint," she says as she lets go.

Nodding, Cloud picks up his bag. Tifa walks him to the door and unbolts all the locks.

"You'll be around?" She asks, voice gentle and hopeful. It warms him, encourages him.

"Yeah," he breathes out. "I'll be around."

—

There's no one inside the church when Cloud gets back.

"Aerith?" He calls out, but the noise of the city is his only answer.

She must have gone out with her friends from the bakery. He heads up into the apartment and drop his bag on the couch that also serves as his bed. He hasn't even removed his jacket when he hears the door open downstairs. Bracing himself for a storm, Cloud walks back into the main area.

"Hey, sorry for not calling, my phone—"

But it's not Aerith standing downstairs; it's James.

Only, it's not _James_. This guy has the same mid-length fiery red hair tied back, the same face, the same sunglasses sitting above his forehead but that's all. There are no tropical shirts, no sneakers, and no playfulness. Instead, there's a dark suit, polished shoes, and a gun at his waist, next to a shock baton.

This—this is a Shinra Corp agent.

 _James_ , who knows nearly everything about him, is a Shinra agent. He smiles at Cloud, dark and wild.

"Hey, buddy."

Cloud holds in his disbelief, his betrayal. He sweeps the church for soldiers, but sees none. They must be outside.

'James' steps forward, nonchalant. "Not even a hello? Your friend was a lot more welcoming."

Aerith. They have Aerith. Cloud seethes, sees red. The mako still has him in its grasp, but he wishes it didn't.

"What do you want, James?" He spits out. Of course, Cloud already knows why he's here.

"It's Reno, actually. Well, James _is_ also my name." A wave of his hand as though they were discussing the weather. "And you know why I'm here."

Cloud takes a second to plan what he should do. James—Reno keeps pacing as he talks, slowly but surely making his way to the staircase. Cloud needs to bolt soon. In the meantime, he has to stall. The wrath that's taken root within him urges him to fight; he pushes it aside for now.

"Where is she?"

Reno shrugs. "In custody, awaiting interrogation. She'll be released if you come with me." He bares his teeth in a feral grin. "Or that's what they want you to believe, but I know you're too smart for that."

A ragged breath escapes Cloud. He has no means to know if Reno's telling the truth, but he has to gamble on it. The guy's aware of his long history and strong bond with her; she's a bargaining tool he won't throw away.

"Why now?" The question comes out, unbidden, and he wants to swallow back the words as soon as they come out.

Reno doesn't even look uncomfortable as he answers. "I'm being pulled out of this job. I have to clean up all my loose ends. You're my last one, buddy."

"You _fucking_ piec—"

"Ah, don't say something like that." He crosses his arms. "I did like you, you know. I could have arrested you five years ago."

Cloud stills when Reno makes another gesture; this time he brings a hand to his ear. It looks like he's simply scratching it, but then he lingers too long and his eyes dart to one side. It's a signal.

They stare each other down for a second, and then Cloud dashes inside the apartment.

"Target's headed in the back," he hears from behind him, Reno to soldiers through his earpiece. It's followed by shattering glass and thundering footsteps.

He doesn't have time to grab anything. He just sprints for the bedroom, not stopping until he reaches the window and heaves it open. There's no emergency staircase, so he'll have to jump on the roof of the building below. It's only a couple of feet, and he's done worse before. The window is large and tall, easy to go through. He can do this. He has to do this.

Cloud backs up so he can gain momentum. He starts running just a soldier bursts inside.

He jumps without a backwards glance. The landing is hard on his body, already weakened by his hangover and lack of proper sleep. He gets up, expecting bullets to rain down on him.

But all he gets are shouts echoing in the cold, grey light, and the darkness of his own thoughts as he runs away.


	8. Chapter eight

**A/N:** Hi! Finals and work took over my life for the past month, but here is the next chapter! I really didn't have the time to go over for mistakes, so excuse the ones you spot? Pretty please?

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

—

8

—

Less than five minutes after Cloud leaves, Barret stomps down the stairs. He signals at Tifa to follow him, and they head into the office. Tifa complies, rolling her eyes at his gruff demeanour.

"Good morning to you too," she says as they enter the room. She shuts the door behind them. Yuffie is also there, sitting on the only chair, feet propped on the desk. Barret grunts and she drops them on the ground with a sigh.

Yuffie feels the need to add, "The boss is in a terrible mood." Both girls share an exasperated look.

"All right, enough." Barret slams a newspaper on the table.

"Yes, sir." Yuffie salutes.

Tifa crosses her arms. "Did we make the news?"

"What do you think?"

Trick question. "Guessing that's a no. They're minimizing the damage?"

"Nope," Yuffie says as she scoots the chair closer to the desk. "They're letting it spread. It's all over the net and the news."

Barret says nothing, and Tifa knows he expects her to figure out the answer on her own. She trails her fingers over the paper; the headline reads 'VIOLENT BOMBING IN SECTOR 4'. The news anchor yesterday said they were calling on the population; they're not hiding what happened; it means they want the people to know. And Shinra would only allow that if they could control the outcome.

"They're gonna hype us up as the bad ones and then crush us, securing the public's opinion," she ends up saying aloud. Her eyes raise to meet Barret's. "It also means they must have found out something about us." Silence is her answer, but it only prompts her to continue. "If I'm right, then bombings like yesterday are too risky; they might turn people against us. So we need to strike Shinra directly." She sighs. "The Board plan."

Finally, Barret nods, and Tifa finds herself angry.

"How much of this did you plan, Barret?" Always two steps ahead, she thinks. "You chose the building; you knew it would collapse and cause a fire."

"Yes," he says, calm. "And I let you and Wedge know so you could get out in time."

"Yes," she repeats, "you did. You also knew Shinra couldn't ignore it. Which means you knew Shinra would make us the target after that. I thought you wanted the public on _our_ side."

"Things like destruction and bombings, they scare people, Tifa."

She frowns. "I know that. You're the one who decided on using these tactics."

"Because it lets Shinra know we're there, and by choosing targets that don't affect the people, they know who we're aiming for." Barret shakes his head. "But most of the citizens, they don't see all that. They think they could be next. Taking out the Board lets them know we're here _for_ them, not against them. We only need to spin it the right way."

Tifa absorbs his words. He's right, she's aware of that, but that's not what bothers her. She hates he kept her in the dark. A quick look in Yuffie's direction reminds her they have a bored audience. They'll have to speak alone.

She swallows the arguments and instead asks, "What's the 'right way'?"

Barret's features relax when she lets it go. "We'll talk about that soon."

"Are you guys done?" Yuffie quips from her seat. She's doodling on a blank sheet of paper.

A knock on the door startles them. Barret frowns, confused.

"Didn't Biggs go home last night?" Yuffie whispers.

He nods. Another knock, more insistent this time.

Tifa blinks. "Oh, _fuck_!"

She'd completely forgotten about Cid. He'd still been in the main room.

"Tifa?"

She runs a hand over her face, embarrassed and guilt-ridden. Her flirting with Cloud made her absent-minded.

"It's Cid," she says, defeated.

"What?" Barret hisses. "I thought he left. I heard the door."

"No, that was—his friend."

"For fuck's sakes,Tifa!"

Cid's voice carries through the closed door. "I heard you guys in there!"

Barret tilts his head back and stares at Tifa. With a sigh, she lets Cid inside.

"You guys fucking blew up a building?" He says, an animated glint in his eyes.

Tifa doesn't like it. She knows what it means. "Listen, Cid—"

But he won't let her speak. "You're the ones who were on TV. Fucking hell! You're going against Shinra?"

She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. There's no point in denying it; he's heard everything.

"We are," Barret ends up answering. He stands straight, arms crossed. "What will you do about it?"

"What will—wha—" Cid sputters. "What do you _think_? I want to join!"

Here it is. She'd expected it. "No," she says, her voice as firm as she can make it.

Disgruntled, Cid snorts. "Knew _you_ 'd say that." He turns to Barret, expectant.

"Why do you believe my answer would be different?" Barret says.

"Because I can help. You know that."

"How so?" Yuffie jumps in. "You don't even know when to shut up."

Cid glares at her. "I didn't say anything after the broadcast yesterday. I can tell when the moment's not right."

"This isn't about 'the moment', Cid. You can't talk about this to anyone, no matter what happens after you leave this room. What could you even do for us?" Tifa goes on, not caring if she's being unkind.

"I'm an engineer," he replies, wary.

" _Was_ an engineer. Now you're a mechanic, all because you talked too much to the wrong person."

"Tifa," Barret warns. "You don't have to lecture Cid on what happened to him."

She shrugs. "I'm just raising a point. He got thrown out of Shinra Corp for running his mouth. How can we trust him with our business?"

Cid steps forward; his posture is tense, and Tifa regrets her words a little.

"Shinra ruined my life, kid. If you're taking a shot at them, I want in. I can help."

Barret gestures at Tifa not to speak as she starts to protest. "How?"

Determined, Cid clenches his fists to his side. "I don't know yet. But I hear and see a lot at my job. One more person on your side is a good start."

"Not if the person's a liability."

Cid doesn't deflate. "What can I do, then?"

Barret counts on his fingers as he speaks. "Excessive drinking has to go. Betting in the underground, too. No more making public comments about Shinra. Nothing that an bring attention to yourself."

"I can do that." His face transforms into a pleased smile.

Tifa watches them, baffled. "Barret, you can't be serious?"

He turns her way, and she knows she's lost this battle.

"We need new members," Barret admits. "Especially if we're about to get bigger. And a controlled variable is better than a loose one, you know that."

His last statement hits her; it's a valid point, and her objections die in her throat.

Yuffie breaks her silence, "Barret, I think we should talk about this as a team."

He waits a couple of seconds before answering. "You're right. We will."

 _Of course she's right_ , Tifa wants to say. But she's known Barret for so long, she can tell his decision is made no matter what the others will think. It hurts, really, how little her opinion seems to matter at this moment. She forgets sometimes that Barret isn't just her boss and the leader of their group; he's also the man who took her in twelve years ago. And maybe he forgets, too. It can blur the lines in a way that makes them hard to redefine. And right now, she feels the clarity evaporate.

She heads for the door, passing Cid on the way.

"Count me out. You already know what I think. No offence, Cid," she adds as she exits the room.

His mumbled, "Full offence, you mean," is hard to ignore, but she does her best.

—

Sulking's not her thing, but after a day of not talking to Barret and staying in her apartment, she realizes that's what she's been doing. It annoys her; it's just so not _her_ to do so. But she's unable to shake off the feeling of hurt that got a hold of her. What she needs is a distraction because staying cooped up is a way for her thoughts to overwhelm her.

It's late in the afternoon when she crosses into Sector 6 to visit a shop she likes. Browsing the clothes on the multitude of racks is not enough to fill her mind with something else, anything else. She finds a nice jacket, and the decision to buy it is impulsive. As she's exiting the store with her purchase, someone calls her name. She almost doesn't stop, lost in her head.

It's Vincent, who jogs to close the distance between them. He's got a shy smile on as he waves at her.

"Hey."

Tifa takes in his appearance, noticing he dressed down compared to the first time she saw him.

"Hi," she replies. "What's up?"

He shoves his hands in his pockets, and shuffles his feet. "Well, I didn't get caught in another con, so I'd say things are going well."

His comment cracks her bad mood; she lets out a quiet laugh. "That's nice to hear."

"You okay?" He frowns. "I saw you in there, you seemed mad."

She doesn't know what to answer, and her silence makes him stumble over his words.

"I mean—sorry, I shouldn't pry." Vincent scratches the back of his head. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

Tifa sighs. "No, don't worry. I'm in a bad mood, that's all." She hesitates before continuing, "Something happened at work and it's been bugging me."

"Is everything okay at the bar?"

"Yeah." She waves her hand around. "The bar's fine. But Barret hired a new guy. Let's say I disagree with his choice of employee."

Vincent looks appropriately concerned, and she can't tell how much of it is faked. She doesn't really care.

"That sucks. Hopefully, the situation fixes itself soon."

"Thanks." She gives him a tight smile. "I should head back."

"Yeah, yeah, of course!" He steps back, tripping over his own feet.

Tifa's smile grows at the sight. "Are you okay?"

He brings a hand up to his face, hiding the redness of his cheeks. "Yeah." He clears his throat. "Thanks."

"Don't forget to come visit," she says as she starts to walk away.

Vincent nods and waves again, calling out a goodbye before turning on his heels and disappearing around a corner. Tired, Tifa settles on going back to 7th Heaven instead of keeping on shopping for things she doesn't need. She should have a talk with Barret, anyway. It's never been like her to let things go on unresolved.

She decides on taking the long way, bypassing the main street for a quiet residential one. Lost in her thoughts, she doesn't immediately notice the man accompanied by a child approaching her. They walk fast, hand-in-hand, heads down. Tifa moves to the side to let them pass, but the man's hand shots out at the last second, making a grab for her elbow. She avoids the movement with a sharp twist of her body. The man doesn't move away.

"Please," he hisses, "help us."

The multiple meanings behind his words bounce through her head as she stares at him. The man's features are taut, he keeps fidgeting. Her eyes drift down to the child; there are tear tracks staining his cheeks and a slight tremble to his body. Tifa's always been able to spot a street con, but something feels different this time. These people are genuinely scared.

Her silence prompts the man to take a step closer, and Tifa takes one back out of instinct.

He pleads again, "Please, please help us."

Tifa doesn't have the time to say anything; a military vehicle swerves around the nearest corner, from the direction the two strangers came from.

"Dean," the kid whispers as he tugs on the man's sleeve. "Dean, it's _them_."

They try to take off, but the truck comes to a stop too quickly and four soldiers come streaming out, weapons raised, voices loud. Tifa doesn't let herself think; she drops her bag and falls to her knees, hands behind her head. Minimizing the shaking of her hands proves hard, but she reminds herself she doesn't have a choice. They can't test her, they just can't. One soldier stays close to her, gun pointed towards the ground. It's a good sign, she tells herself—they don't consider her the threat. To her side, she spots the man named Dean lower himself to the ground, yelling at the kid to do the same. The shouts resonate in the space, filling it until Tifa believes her heart will burst out. It's all _Get down, get down, don't move, hands on your head, shut him up_ , and the child is crying in-between, and she tastes vomit in the back of her throat.

The noise goes down in volume, the decrease sudden. Even the kid stops weeping. Tifa raises her head in time to see a tall man step out of the front of the truck. Dressed in an impeccable uniform, standing straight, hair tied back at the nape of his neck—Tifa's seen him on TV before, answering questions during investigations or giving speeches about public safety. Calm and collected despite the previous chaos, he walks to an officer.

"Captain," the solider salutes, handing him a screen. "The child's test turned out positive."

"What about the man?"

"Negative, sir."

Tifa does her best to regulate her breathing as her self-control spirals downwards. A few meters away, the child's cries regain in intensity.

"Sir, please, he's just a child," Dean begs, his voice shaky.

The Captain doesn't raise his head from the screen; he swipes at something on it, and frowns.

"Dean Costas," he reads aloud. "Thirty-seven, Shinra Corp employee, Research division." He hands the screen back to the officer who takes it without a word. "The child?"

"Registered, sir."

At this, Tifa's eyes snap to the Captain. Registered? She hides her surprise when she remembers the soldier staying close to her.

Dean resumes his frantic begging as the Captain gets closer to them. There is a crackle through the air that has everyone tensing. Tifa spots the flicker of electricity surrounding the kid, and so does Dean.

"Don't," he warns. "Andrei, _don't_!"

But the child isn't listening anymore. From where she is, Tifa can make out his full-body shaking as he sways forward. His crying escalate into full-scale yelling, an ugly noise with no end. Dean tries in vain to get him to calm down. He tries to scoot on his knees to get closer, but a soldier raises his gun, signalling he shouldn't move. A flare of lightning cracks close to the soldier's head, who swears and jumps back, his weapon now aimed at the kid.

"Andrei, stop, _please_." Dean is near tears. "It'll be okay, it'll be okay—" He says it over and over again, until Andrei's scream fades into violent sobs. Tifa knows it won't be okay, and she guesses the child does as well.

Tifa barely has the time to see the Captain nod at the officer before the order is given. The gunshot sounds off and the crying ends. Dean's chest caves in on a silent wail as Andrei's small body hits the ground. Tifa grinds her teeth in an effort not to let the protest escape. Her nails dig into her palms; she wills herself to relax, but _damn it, damn it, damn it_.

The Captain steps up in front of Dean. He draws his own gun from its holster, keeping it to his side.

"You knew this was the only outcome."

A throaty laugh breaks free of Dean.

"You only made it worse." He continues, bringing the gun level with Dean's head. "It was for nothing."

Dean's face twists in an awful smile; it makes Tifa look away. "Doing the right thing is never for nothing."

Tifa closes her eyes as the gun is fired; she hears the body fall. She only opens them when footsteps get close to where she kneels. The Captain is standing two meters away, inspecting her as if he hadn't seen her before. The officer with the screen keeps close, ready to act upon orders. Despite the urge to glance right, Tifa keeps her gaze ahead.

"What about this one?" The Captain asks, already uninterested.

"She appears to be a bystander, sir."

He puts the gun away. "ID number?"

The officer turns to Tifa, and she can't keep her voice from shaking as she speaks. "7394-IR87."

After inputting it on the screen, the officer glances through her file. Tifa holds her breath when he frowns.

"Sir," he calls out to the Captain. He shows him the screen. Her heartbeat accelerates—her record should be clean.

The Captain looks at her after reading the screen, attentive this time around. The silence stretches; Tifa counts seven seconds until he says, "Take her in for questioning."

The closest soldier doesn't hesitate. He walks around her, forcing her arms behind her back, and handcuffing her hands.

"I don't—I don't understand!" Tifa's words come out rushed, loud. "What's going on?"

She tries to hide her panic, but it becomes impossible as they push her into the truck. The soldiers climb in after; only the officer and the Captain stay outside.

"Should I call for a clean-up crew, sir?"

The Captain doesn't hesitate. "Leave them for 36 hours. It'll send a message."

He makes a move to go around the vehicle; Tifa's fear intensifies as the reality of the situation sinks in.

"Hey!" She shouts. "Hey! What's going on? Where are you taking me?" Her voice comes out a tad stronger than she'd expected it would.

Twisting his head to face her, the Captain stares at her with blank eyes. "We just have a few questions for you, Miss Lockhart." He closes the doors.

At this, her heart drops. It has to be about Avalanche, she thinks—if it had to do with her being a Carrier, they would have subdued her already. She doesn't understand _how_ they could know; they've always been so careful and—and—and goddamn it, _how_ the fuck could they _know_.

The engine comes to life and they depart.

—

The cell they shove her in is filthy and tiny. A bunk bed takes up most of the space; the covers of the bottom one are pulled back. Tifa takes in the place as she rubs her wrists. She'd forgotten handcuffs could be painful; she'd always worn them as a practice to break _out_ of them, and she hadn't done that in a long time. The whole incident hits her now; as they were driving to the Sector 6 jail, it still felt surreal. She walks to the back wall and slides down until she's sitting, knees drawn to her chest.

She's unsure how to stop the images from replaying in her head. It should be easy, she thinks; she is in control of her mind, and if she wills it to stop, it should. But it refuses to listen, and instead, she sees the bodies fall to the ground; she hears the cries and begging; she lives through the fear and brutality again. Living on the streets of the poorer Sectors for a few years, she's seen her fair share of death and violence. And yet, the sheer coldness of what she witnessed earlier rattles her.

Dean's plea for her help haunts her. She tells herself she should have helped, should have reacted faster—maybe they could have run away. But logic reminds her she'd be laying dead on the streets if she had. How is she supposed to help other Carriers if by doing so, she's engineering her own execution? This is why they need people like Barret and groups like Avalanche—people who fight carefully and think long-term. That's why she can't stay in here; she needs to head back and warn the others. If they know something Avalanche-related about her, they might be in danger.

It's cold in the cell, but she can't find the strength to get up, so she stays where she is until tremors overtake her body. The moment she gets to her feet, a signal sounds and the door opens. The girl who walks in is Tifa's age; she's huddled into an oversized coat and Tifa envies her for it. The girl jumps when she sees she has a companion, but a hesitant smile soon forms on her lips.

"Hi," she says. Her voice is soft.

"Hey," Tifa answers back. She walks to the bunk and tears the covers off the top bed, wrapping them around herself. She might look ridiculous, but at this point it's the least of her concerns.

"Do you want my coat?" The girl offers, already taking it off.

Tifa shakes her head. "No need, I'll be all right. But thanks anyway." She heads back to her corner. To her surprise, the girl does the same, sitting down two feet away. She arranges the fabric of her long skirt as it pools around her. Though Tifa's not in the mood for conversation, she hates the awkward silence more.

"What's your name?"

The girl brings the sleeves of her coat over her knuckles, and the gesture reeks of anxiety. "I'm Aerith. You?"

"Tifa. So, how long have you been in here?"

Aerith glances around. Tifa follows her gaze to the camera hanging from the celling. "This is my second day."

Tifa wants to ask her why she's here, but knows better. They're both afraid to say more than they should, the reminder they are under surveillance ever present. Their talk dies, and Tifa lets it, unable to find the will to carry on. She's dozing off, comfortable in her cocoon of blankets, thin and scratchy as they are, when Aerith walks to her bed and slips in. A minute later, Tifa hears her hushed crying. The thought of comforting her crosses her mind, but in the end, both girls stay where they are, and Tifa falls into a restless sleep.

She's woken up by the door opening and the alarm blaring again. It startles her and Aerith; the latter jumps out of bed. Tifa takes her time getting up, untangling herself from the covers. A soldier is standing inside, and three others are outside the cell. This isn't for an interrogation, Tifa can tell. Something else is happening. She stays calm as they handcuff her again so they don't tighten needlessly.

They don't get an explanation as they are led outside, escorted by the many soldiers into another truck, bigger than the one from yesterday. There are other prisoners inside, and they take a place amongst them. Next to her, Aerith shakes. This time, Tifa reaches, covering the girl's hands with her own, and Aerith grips it hard. Just as they're about to close the truck's doors, Tifa spots the Captain heading this way, trailed as always by the officer with the screen. Tifa strains her ear, trying to catch where they're headed. All she gets is PDC, and she gulps. The Primary Detainment Centre in Sector 3 is the place people never walk out of.

As they drive off, she knows it deep down; this won't end well.

—


	9. Chapter nine

**A/N:** Hey! Life and school and work swallowed me, but here is the chapter. I woke up early this morning and decided I needed to get it done (so it might be a little rough at times, forgive that please!). I'm finishing intensive summer classes this week, so hopefully I'll go back to a more regular updating schedule after. Anyway. Enough babbling.

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

—

9

—

Cloud pulls the brim of his stolen hat lower as two older ladies break up their gossiping to glance his way. The Sector 6 morning market is almost empty near closing time, and loiterers like him stand out. He's been here since the opening, hoping to gather any crumb of information about where Aerith is. For now, he's sure she's being held up in the Sector jail; he thought of breaking into it that first night, but realized soon enough how foolish that plan was. James—Reno will probably try to lure him out somehow; that'd just seem like something he'd do, and that's why he needs to keep his ears and eyes open.

The chatter dies down as merchants close their stalls for the day. The indoor market is immense, and when it's full, it's a good place to disappear. But now, with the last of the customers walking out, Cloud's only option is to leave, or he'll be too easy to spot. He keeps his head down as he exits. Outside, the world is its usual dim shade of grey. Cloud heads down the first busy street he comes across, hands in his jacket's pockets. Absentmindedly, he toys with the bottle of mako stored away in a hidden inside pocket. When he ran away from the church, he didn't stop for a long time. His emotions had been surging and cresting, a dangerous mix that wouldn't have been of any help. Tifa's words had flashed lightning-fast through his mind, how running was an outlet for her ability, a way to control it. He couldn't have run full speed through the Sector for hours without bringing attention to himself, not with Shinra on his heels. Instead, he'd kept being on the run, not staying in one place for long before finding another. The adrenaline had him focus on something other than his growing rage, and he thought it had the added chance of confusing any Shinra solider trailing him. It had been all fine until the rage had taken control and he had _needed_ to stop, needed to take a mako pill. Once he had and once he'd found an abandoned building underground—the remnants of some tiny restaurant—he'd exploded. The racket he'd made as he'd thrown chairs at the wall and overturned decaying tables could have brought people to his hiding place, but all logic had flown away. Two days later, his knuckles were still red and bruised from hitting the walls.

But now, he can feel the mako fading. A faint tingling of power runs through his fingertips, snakes through his heart, and he both hates and loves it. He can't make the mistake of taking another dose, not when there's a chance he might have to call upon his ability. He also doesn't have a supplier anymore; rationing what he has left is his best option.

A whisper of wind picks up, and Cloud is glad for the hoodie he stole yesterday. It could smell better, sure; he'd snatched it off a passed-out man reeking of liquor. Taking the coat had been tempting, too, but he had figured the hoodie was enough. The cap he'd swiped in a small shop while the clerk looked away. All this thieving reminds him of the past, and he shakes the memories away. They're useless now. He has to keep searching for clues.

Reno has to know Cloud is still in Sector 6; there's no way he can leave through the checkpoints without getting arrested. Or at least, Cloud doesn't think it's worth trying. The only other way is to cross the Shinra Tower perimeter as it stands in the middle of Midgard. But even if he could get inside, the private grounds cover kilometres and he'd get found out in minutes. When he's not eavesdropping on strangers' conversations or squatting in random places with televisions so he can catch the news, Cloud's been thinking about his courses of action. He's done his best at attempting to be Reno and to understand what he'd do. He has known the guy for a long time after all, and he reckons that, even if Reno was never truly 'James', they can't have been so different either. As James, he always appeared like a clever guy pretending to be dumb, and while Cloud didn't always take that aspect of him seriously, he does now. That's how he's sure Reno will spring a trap for him; he won't waste his and his soldiers' time running in circles around the Sector to catch someone who's lived in the streets. He will make it so Cloud comes to Shinra.

The buzz of a loud TV and louder chatter attracts Cloud's attention, and he switches sidewalks, coming closer to a bar-restaurant with its doors wide-open. Near the entrance, he spots three men glancing his way, then at each other. With one last look at him, the men head into the restaurant. Oh, jackpot, Cloud thinks. He peeks inside; it's the perfect place for a guy like Reno to drop hints he wants picked up. The room is dark, lit only by dimmed celling lamps, and the tables are pushed close together. Good for eavesdropping. Cloud walks inside. He lingers a second too long in the doorway, unsure of whether he needs to wait for a hostess or just take a seat. The three men sit in a corner, and Cloud decides to follow, taking the table closest to theirs.

They stand out, and that, more than their furtive looks to each other, is what gives them away. Living in the poorer Sectors, you either get used to the rhythm and wear its cloak of relative danger with ease, or you leave and it doesn't matter _how_ you leave. The residents know their own. These men—Cloud can tell they're used to nicer things. It's not only the quality of their jackets or the shine to their boots; it's the way one tenses whenever someone strays too close; the way one of them keeps watching his latest-model cellphone; the way the third one keeps bringing his hand to his hip only to grip air instead of a gun. They're young, around Cloud's age.

They're bait; Reno wants them found out. He knows Cloud will listen to them because he'll be starved for information. And Cloud curses himself for playing the game.

The sole waitress wanders to Cloud's table, and he rattles off an order. He does need to eat after all. She forces a smile and walks away. Next to him, the men talk. Their discussion is loud, but not louder than the other patrons'. Cloud catches every words, dismissing the ones that don't appear relevant, storing away the ones that might be. But the undercover soldiers stick to small talk. As his meal arrives, Cloud wonders if he might have been wrong about them. Maybe he's just become paranoid.

Or maybe not. The guy with the cellphone pushes back his chair and walks around the table, coming to sit to Cloud's right. A hand on his knife, Cloud does his best to adopt a relaxed stance as he leans back in his seat, meal forgotten. The other guy stares; his posture is rather casual, and Cloud reckons he's the more experienced of the three.

"Are you here to arrest me?" Cloud tilts his head back, pretending to study the guy when in reality he's scanning the room for the best escape plan.

The man drums his fingers on the table. "Technically, no." He nods to his companions. "They'd rather we took you in ourselves; they think they'll get a promotion or something."

"Then you're here for small talk? I'm not great at that," Cloud says, smoothly. His fingers tighten around the knife's handle; his thumb rests on the switch, ready to spring the blade open.

"No." The man takes a deep breath. "We've been following you since this morning. You're not easy to keep track of," he adds.

Cloud shrugs.

"Agent James wanted us to get into contact with you around—" He checks his cellphone. "Right about now. They're taking her to the PDC. They should be leaving the Sector 6 jail soon."

The words wrap around Cloud and controlling his reaction proves difficult. His teeth grind together; his breathing speeds up.

"He's sick," he hisses.

The guy doesn't disagree with his statement. "Agent James has a weird fascination with finishing his work." He makes a move to get to his feet.

Cloud has to think fast. These guys were tracking him all morning, meaning they were on foot; they likely don't have a vehicle anywhere close. Going through the checkpoint is still too risky so that only leaves the train as an option. Like all citizens, his train pass is registered to his ID (in case of lost, they said; so we can emit a new one, they said; for easier transactions, they said), and although he's positive Shinra doesn't track their movements regularly, there's a good chance Reno is tracking his right now. The sick fuck wants him to head over to the PDC in Sector 3, but using his own pass could take away Cloud's advantage of surprise. Not to mention these undercover soldiers will contact Reno as soon as he's gone.

He leans forward. "I'll come with you."

The guy looks stunned. "You won't go after her?"

Cloud bites his tongue to compose himself. "There's no way I can get her out of the PDC." As much as it pains him to admit it, it's the truth.

All he has to do is make sure she doesn't go in.

"You're surrendering?" The solider doesn't buy it. Good for him, Cloud thinks.

"I'm tired of running," he says while injecting the proper amount of tiredness and annoyance and defeat in his voice. "Just do your job."

Next to him, the guy hesitates, then holds out his hand. "Give me the knife first."

Cloud drops it in his hand without protest, then gets to his feet. He takes out a twenty bill and leaves it on the table. The soldiers follow suit, casually; they don't want to make a scene, Cloud realizes as the one who'd been talking to him leads them through the back of the restaurant.

"We should restrain him," he hears one of them stage-whisper.

Throughout all the years he's possessed his ability, Cloud has never gained complete control over it. But there are moments—moments where a cold, calculating rage possesses him; moments where he's found himself able to make the flames bend to his will the way he desired.

It comes over him now, this icy wrath, just as one of the soldiers shoves him against the wall and makes to handcuff him. They've turned a bend into the corridor, away from prying eyes. It's a good thing, too, as the man holding the handcuff yells out in pain when they burn his hands. Not a move meant to hurt, but one meant to distract; most of his ability is still slumbering thanks to the mako, anyway. In a flash, Cloud is on him, arms around his neck. It snaps with a sharp move, and the guy crumbles.

Cloud doesn't think; he acts. Fighting, killing—it's something he knows well. The two soldiers leap at him, one brandishing a shock baton. Dealing with him comes first, and he has to do it fast before the other overwhelms him. The man swings the baton in a precise strike, but Cloud is faster as he twists to the side and grabs the man's wrist, forcing his arm to extend, locking him in place for a second. A quick but powerful elbow strike to the man's throat pins him against the wall, increasing the strength of the blow. But Cloud doesn't bother looking at him twice as he collapses; from the gasping sounds he's making, Cloud wagers he might have broken his larynx.

The last soldier curses, loudly. It's the one who spoke to Cloud before. Experienced or not, now he scrambles for a gun that isn't there. Unable to contain it, Cloud lets out a soft laugh at the sight. He stretches out of his hand, smirking.

"I'll take my knife back. And your train pass."

The guy stays still for a few seconds—one, two, three, four, Cloud counts—until he complies with shaky movements. There's the hope he might leave the place unscathed; it's all over his face, shining in his eyes. Cloud pockets the pass, and flicks the blade open, his shoulders loosening at the familiar sound of the mechanism.

"Thanks." He smiles at the soldier. "Tell Reno I'll see him in hell."

"You're letting me go?" The guy says, quiet, as if speaking any louder will change his fate.

"Am I?"

One lunge across the hallway is all it takes for Cloud to close the distance between them; the strike to the guy's heart is pinpoint and lethal, but Cloud twists the knife anyway before drawing it out and stepping back. Quickly, he wipes the blood away on the fallen man's clothes before jogging towards the back exit leading him into an alleyway. The fight happened fast, but he won't take the chance to stay a second too long and get discovered.

He keeps his head down as he drifts through the lunchtime crowd. His hands have blood on them, but he doesn't have the time to stop, not if he wants to get to the PDC in time. Instead, he shoves them deeper in his jacket's pockets. There's a train station not too far, but he still picks up his pace. It's hard to tell how much time he has before Aerith enters the PDC; once she does, it's over. Even if he had complete mastery over his ability, there's no way he could break into that place; forget coming out alive. He needs to get there in time. He has to.

When he walks inside the station, it's crawling with people, making it easier to blend in. He holds his breath as he swipes the soldier's pass over the scanner; it beeps, and the light turns green. Cloud crosses just as the signal for the train's departure sounds. He breaks into a run, nearly losing his cap in the process, and makes it inside as the doors shut. Thankfully, the compartment is somewhat empty. Cloud leans against the opposite doors, too restless to sit.

All at once, the recent events catch up with him. His evening at 7th Heaven with Cid seems so long ago, and his kiss with Tifa feels so trivial now. Two days ago, his biggest priority was making up with Aerith. Today, it's keeping her from being imprisoned. His hands shake as thoughts assail him. He feels so, so goddamn stupid for wanting to have that _fucking_ conversation with her three weeks ago. If their fight hadn't happened, he wouldn't have gone out to fight in the underground so much. He wouldn't have left her alone so much, and maybe—just maybe—Reno wouldn't have gotten to her.

If, if, if.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Evening out his breathing proves harder and harder as they near Sector 3. But he needs to be in control of himself when he gets there, or he'll only make things worse.

It hits him, then, how fucked they are. He's got an obsessive Shinra agent on his tail; his ID is flagged for life and he's been outed as a Carrier to Shinra. His delivery job is over, and he won't be able to be hired anywhere else without a new identity. If he breaks Aerith out, she'll be considered complicit and won't be able to go back to her normal life. Getting out of Midgard is impossible without a permit. The only solution that comes to mind is buying new IDs for themselves; Cloud knows there are people who can do that, but he's also never had to consider it before and he has no clue where to look. In such a short time, his life has become a puzzle, and he wonders where his and Aerith's pieces fit now. Figuring it all out might prove difficult; they need to be careful once they're on the run.

Careful—he really hates that word. Before, he wasn't careful enough; later, he was too careful, or at least he believed he was. Now, he hides in plain sight and kills Shinra Corp soldiers in restaurant hallways. He'd promised her, promised he'd be careful. And goddamn if he's not tired and afraid now. Tired of impossible vows; afraid of what's coming. Of the life they'll have to lead.

As the train crosses into Sector 3, Cloud readies himself, pushing the last of his stray thoughts away. He can't let them distract him; all his focus has to be on breaking out Aerith. For a second, he wishes he had the same knowledge about Shinra's protocols as Tifa. The night of the blockade, she seemed to know exactly what would happen, thinking two steps ahead of him. Right now, he is blind, walking into a trap with no idea of how it might close around him.

The station closest to the PDC is next, so he pushes away from the doors. His mental calculations could be off, but he estimates the prisoner transport should arrive within minutes—if the information the soldier gave him is accurate. As soon as the train stops, he jumps out, jogging towards the exit. From the corner of his eyes, he notices a group of armed soldiers scanning the crowd, and Cloud ducks his head, exiting the station's grounds without being intercepted.

He's never been to the Detainment Centre, but he's seen the structure displayed on TV and the net before; it's huge, and he spots it easily to his left, two streets over. He slows down as he gets closer. To his surprise, there's a decent crowd. He slips between people, ignoring the looks sent his way. The mass of people gets denser near the front, but Cloud can see soldiers and short fences preventing people from advancing.

Though his heart is racing like never before, he does his best at appearing casual and curious. There's a big military vehicle a little further up front, but he doesn't see prisoners, only more soldiers. Around him, the Sector residents mumble, getting restless. He has to strain his ear to pick up what the couple closest to him are saying, but when he does, it chills him. Reno really set this up to catch him.

"—not usual, don't you think?"

"That's true, they usually drive the truck inside the grounds."

"Do you think it's because of that attack a few days ago?"

"Ah, yeah, could be." The man's voice drops low, but Cloud still hears him. "They even announced the arrival. They're making an example out of them."

Could be, Cloud thinks, but deep down he knows if Aerith is on this transport, it's on purpose. It doesn't matter why they're making a spectacle of this; all he cares about is the chance it provides him.

The soldiers near the truck move suddenly, and the crowd shifts in anticipation, creating a small space for him to go through. He's still hidden from view by others, but at least his vantage point is better. He can see two officers discussing as the other soldiers begin to walk the prisoners out of the vehicle. Reno is nowhere in sight, not that Cloud had expected him to be here. He recognizes the highest-ranking officer, with his telltale tied silver-grey hair; the Captain of the Public Security military division if he remembers right. This will make things harder.

Cloud catches sight of Aerith as she gets out of the truck; his heart constricts, his lungs burn, his stomach twists. She's glancing around wildly, hoping to spot him. She looks afraid, but Cloud knows better. She's terrified he'll try to do something stupid for her, terrified he'll get caught. And she'd do the same for him, he's sure, and that means he can't let her see him before the time is right.

They can do this, together, he knows they can—they're a team. They'll fight their way out and get to safety. Cloud moves, faster this time, but not so much that he'll jostle the people around him and get noticed. His knife rests in his right hand—still bloodied. He keeps it closed and as concealed as possible. With the mako mostly gone, he can sense the fire within him grow with his need for it.

His plan sucks. With no intel regarding the location and no time to scheme, his only hope is to cause a distraction, fight anyone in his way, grab Aerith, and run, run, run.

But everything happens too fast.

Despite his cap, despite being cautious, Aerith sees him through the multitude of people gathered. Their eyes lock; it's a standstill, and Cloud is unwilling to break it. Her gaze drifts down to his hand, and so does his. Flames dance around his wrist, twirling around his fingers, mocking him and his lack of control. She looks at him again. Her resolve hardens her features, and she stops walking forward, breaking the line. Soldiers approach her, hands on their guns.

The cry that bursts out of Cloud is silent. No—no, no, no, she _can't_. Not caring about stealth anymore, he pushes through the crowd, hoping to draw attention. That's when he spies the fountain close to the throng of people, and he stops breathing.

 _Don't do it, don't, don't, you've always been_ _so_ careful _to hide it_ _—_

The second the three soldiers encircle her, Aerith raises her handcuffed hands. The onlookers scream in fear as the water from the fountain freezes and blasts all around them, sending ice shards throughout the crowd; blood mists the air. Out of instinct, Cloud ducks, but stands back up quickly, only to witness spikes of ice piercing the three soldiers' chests as they fall to the ground. The ice melts, leaving behind gaping holes.

 _Run, for fuck's sakes, just RUN_ —

The noise around him increases as the people panic and scatter out of fear. The military reacts, blocking most ways out, trapping the stray spectators in, yelling for calm and order.

Cloud can't move with the people pushing him in their hysteria; he feels like they are a strong current and he is drowning. He needs to make a way, needs to advance, needs to get to her.

Aerith's been subdued; two soldiers have her on her knees, arms forced behind her back. From where he stands, he glimpses the sad twist of her mouth. In front of her, the Captain takes out his gun. He doesn't pause, too fast for Cloud to react.

 _No, no, no, no, no, NO—_

The trigger is pulled, but he doesn't hear the gunshot. All the world's sounds are removed, forcibly, but the images stay. The blood that sprays everywhere is so vibrant he could count the droplets.

Aerith has collapsed on the street. She doesn't move.

Of course, she doesn't move, he realizes; she's dead, dead, dead, dea—

A scream chokes him; it won't come out. It's buried deep, deep, deep inside. His lungs fill with water, and this time, he _is_ drowning, drowning in a sea of horror and heartbreak. He sinks, and at the seafloor he finds rage.

He had forgotten his fire, his power. He feels it flare up, slowly, more slowly than he'd like—the aftereffect of the mako. It hasn't reached his fingertips yet when he is grabbed by the collar and dragged backwards. He stumbles and it syncs him back with reality. All the noise rushes into him as he blinks.

There is chaos around him. Controlled chaos, as it always is in the city of Midgard. He glances around and sees the people screaming, cowering, cheering, running away; he sees the soldiers and officers pushing people back, calling for order, letting the hate run wild. But mostly, he sees the Captain as he walks away from Aerith's body, unaffected and uncaring; he holsters his gun and calls something at a soldier nearby. Cloud can't hear the command, but there's a conditioned awareness to the soldiers' unified response.

They're about to blockade the area and verify identification. Too bad they won't get to it. He'll burn them all before they can act.

He's ready to surge forward when hands grip him and he's whirled around violently, coming face-to-face with Cid.

Cid? What is he doing—no, he needs to go after the soldiers.

"Let me go!" Cloud snarls, ripping himself out of Cid's hold. But the old man grabs his shirt collar with force; Cloud's cap floats to the ground.

"We gotta go, kid. No arguing!"

Feeling like a child with a temper, Cloud pushes him; Cid's grip still holds. "You don't und—"

This time, Cid yells. "I'm trying to save you. You think she wouldn't want that?"

The words drain all the fight out of Cloud, and Cid notices. He pulls Cloud forward by the arm, obliging him to run towards an opening in the crowd. Cloud barely notices what's going on anymore; there is noise, a lot of noise, but his sight blurs and he can only distinguish colours as they shimmer around him and Cid.

A sudden pain in the back of his head snaps him out it; Cid pinned him against the brick wall of an alley. He grasps the back of Cloud's neck, shaking him.

"Kid— _kid_ , you gotta go faster—Cloud!"

The sound of his name gets through him, making him nod. Yes, they gotta run, they gotta escape. Why again?

"C'mon. It's not far."

Cloud goes faster—scarcely—and Cid still has to guide him with a hand on his shoulder. They weave through the maze of alleyways, stopping at times to hide from patrols. They reach a garage, but head towards the back, going inside through a propped up emergency door. Cid leads him around a corner and into a room that seems to be an office. But Cloud doesn't take in the place, doesn't ask questions. He only sees, over and over again, the blood and the Captain and the crumpled body of his closest friend, of his family.

"Kid—Cloud, you should si—hey, hey, hey! Kid!"

Cloud feels his legs give out; feels hands steadying him—but he welcomes the darkness as it reaches out and swallows him.

—

 _The alley he's been calling home for six days is the best spot he's found in weeks. Its only redeeming factor is that regular patrols don't venture this far into the Sector 4 slums; but it lifts some weight from the fear he carries around, so it's enough. He hasn't gotten his newfound ability under control yet, but at least it doesn't manifest as much anymore. Still, he needs to be careful; avoiding patrols is the first step._

 _The hoodie he stole yesterday is scratchy against his skin, and he'd take it off if it wasn't so damn cold. Instead, he huddles deeper into it. His priority for today is finding food; the money he swiped from a drunk a week ago is disappearing fast, and he'd rather keep what's left for the bad days. He knows he should get to his feet, move around to get warm, but it's_ so damn cold _._

 _Two voices carry over from deeper into the alley, too hushed to make out what's being said. He tries his best to ready his knife, but his frozen fingers don't work properly. It's only the end of fall, and he wonders how he'll survive the winter._

"— _this way, I told you so earlier."_

" _It's not faster. Your mom's gonna be angry we went this way."_

" _Hey, don't tell my mom!"_

 _He stills as the owners of the voices come into view. They're around thirteen years old, just like him; a boy and a girl, both dressed in tattered but warm clothes. They come to a stop when they spot him. He looks away, keeping them in his peripheral vision. If he looks harmless enough, maybe he can take them by surprise, and get the boy's coat and the girl's knit hat._

 _The boy grabs his companion's hand, and makes a move to walk away, but the girl won't budge. She takes a step forward, dragging the boy with her._

" _What's your name?" The girl asks._

 _He clutches the knife's handle tighter. "Why?" His voice is throaty from disuse._

" _We're wasting our time," the boy drawls._

" _Shut up, Zack." She untangles their hands, and he looks pissed by it. "He's like me."_

" _I'm not anything." It comes out hasty; his fear makes him stumble over the syllables._

 _Slowly, the girl comes closer and crouches in front of him. She brings her hand up, level with his eyes; a languid twist of her wrist and droplets of water gather, twirling around her hand. The sight has all the air rush out of him, and he can't help but lean forward._

" _Aerith." The word is a warning._

" _I know what I'm doing," she says. The water hardens into ice but stays floating between them._

" _How—" He wants to ask how she did that, how to control it. "How did you know?"_

 _The smile she gives him is dazzling. "I can sense it."_

" _Doubly gifted," the boy named Zack adds. He suddenly stiffens. "Sunshine, get up."_

 _They all look towards the mouth of the alley, to a lone soldier heading their way. From the quickening footsteps, they can tell something's wrong. The suspended ice reverts to water and falls to the ground. Aerith jumps up. They've been spotted._

 _He hears Zack say, "Let's run." He hears the soldier draw her gun and say, "I'm going to ask you to submit to testing." He hears the overwhelming noise of his own heartbeat as it escalates from fear and panic._

 _The soldier approaches them. "On your feet," she orders him. He complies in silence, but it's not enough for her. "Hands where I can see them," she adds when he keeps them in the pocket of his hoodie. That's when logic cuts through and he remembers he's holding his knife._

" _I'll submit first," he says as he steps forward. Behind him comes a hushed gasp. He draws closer to the soldier and waits a beat, just long enough for her to lower her guard as she reaches for her equipment. Then, he lunges, knife first. She sees him coming and twists away, but he gets her in her side. Her back hits the brick wall and her blood analysis sensor drops to the ground. She raises her gun, but he's faster and he brings down the knife again. This time, he stabs down between her shoulder and her neck, her short height allowing him to reach. The cry she lets out is half-rage, half-pain. She swipes at him; he pulls out the knife while springing away, causing her to scream again. Blood gushes out of the wound; it's all over his face and hair and hoodie. Her gun arm hangs to her side, and she drops the weapon when she charges at him. Her movements are rough, off-target, and tripping her proves easy. So does bringing down his knife over and over until her yells turn to gasps to whimpers to silence._

 _He's breathing hard as he gets to his feet. He wipes at the blood that splattered over his mouth and nose. When he turns around, Zack and Aerith are still there, both looking a mixture of horrified and relieved._

" _My name's Cloud."_

 _He waits for them to run. When they don't, he's thankful. Maybe he won't have to be alone anymore._

—


	10. Chapter ten

—

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

—

10

—

The handcuffs fall from Tifa's wrists to the ground; removing them took longer than she expected due to a lack of practice and the shaking of her hands. She picks them up and throws them in the dumpster behind where she's crouching, hidden from view. The steady cascade of footsteps beyond the alley has her on edge, but she is far enough from the Detainment Centre for her thoughts to clear. She needs to plan; she knows she needs to, but her mind keeps replaying what happened less than ten minutes ago.

Everything went by so fast.

She'd only been a few meters behind Aerith when the girl came to a halt, and unleashed the water and ice in a fearsome display. All the guards in the area had focused on her. Tifa hadn't hesitated to seize the opportunity in front of her. She'd run.

The world had blurred around her as she had escaped. Making use of her ability might not have been the smartest move considering the amount of security in the area, but she couldn't let herself be taken inside. For a second, the thought of grabbing Aerith had danced through her head, only to be extinguished when she had realized how much danger that would put them both in. Leaving her behind sent pangs of guilt through Tifa, and still does. Though she didn't see what happened to Aerith, the outcome seems too obvious.

A loud commotion coming from the street reminds her she can't stay where she is for long. Dwelling on her thoughts will have to wait. For now, she needs to contact Avalanche; it's too risky to head to 7th Heaven, and she doesn't want to place the others in more danger than they might already be. The soldiers at the Sector jail had searched her, but all she'd brought on her walk was cash — hidden in an inside pocket — her cell phone, and a small knife. The old soldier had grunted when he'd found the tiny weapon strapped to the waistband of her pants; he'd grabbed it and the phone and chucked them in a bin with other discarded belongings. The cash, however, is still stored in her jacket. She doesn't have a lot of it, but it could come in handy.

Tifa gets on her feet, and ties her hair up in a simple knot at the base of her neck; her long hair is one of her most recognizable features. She keeps her head lowered as she merges into the busy street, walking in the opposite direction to the PDC. Crossing a checkpoint is out of the question and she doesn't have her train pass with her.

What she needs is a computer. All members of Avalanche have a coded distress message—bland and trivial false rumours the members have memorized. They can relay them through an online forum Yuffie created in their first year as a group. Yuffie monitors it religiously; she uses it to feed rumours and gather information. It prizes anonymity, and became a nest for gossip, making it rather useful to someone able to sift through all the distorted information. All Tifa needs to do is find a computer and post her message, and Yuffie will be notified of her whereabouts.

Tifa comes across a few places boasting free net access, but they all require the patrons to bring their own devices. The others ask for identification to create a paid log-in, and she doesn't care to leave a trace. She's probably wanted by Shinra right about now. Her anxiety skyrockets as she wanders around, unable to find a place and avoiding patrols the best she can. She stops a moment to bring up her mental map of the Sector. Walking around aimlessly won't do any good.

She observes the landmarks surrounding her, doing her best to remember what lies beyond the streets she's been sticking to. Offices, cafes, shops—the library. Jackpot. Free computer access not demanding personal information. Tifa turns on the next street, quickening her pace. She feels exposed out here, tensing every time someone comes too close or eyes linger on her a second too long.

When the library comes into view, she slows down to normal speed, doing her best to appear casual despite her uneasiness. She blends into the stream of people going in and out. Once inside, she doesn't linger in the entrance, and makes a beeline for the computer section. Most of the desks are occupied, but she finds a free one in a corner.

The computer is slow, and Tifa grows anxious as the browser takes a while to load the forum's page. Once it does, she scrolls down to the designed topic which people rarely use. It takes an eternity to post her personal coded message as a guest with the computer's speed, but as soon as it goes through, the tension in her shoulders drops. It's a step towards safety, though she's not out of danger yet.

She refreshes the page every thirty seconds, waiting for Yuffie's reply. The next five minutes feel like the longest of her life; she notices all the cameras hanging from the ceiling, all the security guards, all the people, all the risks. Tifa almost sighs aloud when a message pops up. It's a simple _Where did you get this info_ , but it's the answer they settled on.

 _Where all information is free_ , Tifa writes back, hoping her meaning is clear enough.

Forty seconds later, another message follows: _This isn't the right topic for this. You should move to Sector 3 Gossip._

Tifa types a quick _My bad_ before standing up and walking out. On the surface, Yuffie's reply is a simple online forum suggestion, but to Tifa, it signifies she needs to head to their only Sector 3 hideout. It's on the boundary of the Sector, near the external wall and far away from the PDC. She'd take the train until the last station before Sector 4, but her only option for now is to walk.

She does so, quickly. It takes her almost one hour before she reaches the dilapidated apartment complex. Homeless residents squatting in abandoned buildings and gangs vying for more territory inhabit the periphery of the Sector. It's far from being empty; Tifa's appearance in the zone raises no alarms. She knows these places well, anyway. She used to call them home as a kid.

The room they appointed as their hideout is on the sixth floor, at the end of the hallway. The door is locked, so she knocks three times in a specific pattern. She gets no answer. It makes sense, she thinks as she leans against the door; whoever Yuffie is sending to help her would need around one hour to get here.

She doesn't have to wait long; less than three minutes of pacing later, Tifa hears footsteps. That someone might have followed her crosses her mind. Just in case, she tries the first door to her right; the doorknob turns easily, and she slips inside, keeping the door ajar. The footsteps get closer and closer, until they are replaced by the particular Avalanche knocks, but Tifa stays where she is. Maybe she's being paranoid, maybe she isn't. She doesn't care to find out.

More footsteps resonate through the building, putting Tifa on edge as they near. Soldiers?

"You—walk too—fast—dude, I can't—"

Tifa rolls her eyes before pushing the door to her hiding place open. On the other side, Yuffie leans her hands on her knees, panting. Next to her, Wedge looks a mix of annoyed and sympathetic. The sense of familiarity forms a lump in Tifa's throat, threatening to have her burst into tears. All that happened during the last twenty-four hours is overcoming her at once. But now isn't the right time; she bites down on her bottom lip and steps forward.

"Let's get inside," she says, curt.

Yuffie raises a hand, handing her the key to the apartment. Wedge gives her a perplexed glance.

"Why didn't you pick the lock?"

"I got nothing on me. Not even a hairpin," Tifa replies as she opens the door and walks inside. The place is dusty and grimy, but it's stocked with some supplies and she feels safe here. Well, safer.

"What happened, anyway?"

Yuffie locks the door behind her, coming to join them in the middle of the room. Her breathing is still irregular when she speaks next.

"Barret's gonna kill you. He's been going out of his mind when you didn't come back."

The thought of Barret stings the back of her eyes; she blinks the tears away. It hits her now—how close she came to never going home. She drops unto one of the two chairs. Yuffie follows suit; Wedge stands behind her.

"I got arrested," Tifa begins. "There was a — raid, I guess. It was weird." She shakes her head. "When they ran my ID, something must have popped up because they brought me in."

Wedge crosses his arms. "You know why?"

"They didn't say. But I think…" She sighs. "I think it might have to do with Avalanche."

Yuffie's eyes narrow, and she brings out her phone, scrolling and typing furiously. Tifa and Wedge ignore her.

"I don't understand, though," Wedge says. "You've always been super careful."

Tifa shrugs. She's been asking herself the same thing since yesterday. "Guess I must have slipped at some point."

"Guys!" Yuffie exclaims as she flails her phone around, hitting Wedge in the chest. "This is bad. You're actually on their Public Safety threats list thing."

Wedge curses. Tifa stares. "I'm on what?"

"It's like a wanted list, but exclusive to the military." No one asks how she found it; Yuffie can discover anything and everything if it's on the net. "If you're on that, it means they consider you a danger to the state."

Another swear from Wedge. "She can't come back."

Tifa runs a hand through her hair, forgetting she'd knotted it back. "I expected that." She doesn't add how much the idea of staying away nauseates her. "It has to be Avalanche related."

He nods. "How did you get out?"

Sighing, she falls back into the chair. "They brought me to the Sector 6 jail, and today, they moved a group of us over to the PDC. There was a commotion, and I — slipped away."

Wedge nudges Yuffie, who bats him away. "Cid was on the right path."

"For once," she grumbles. "I should let him know we found you."

Tifa tilts her head to the side. "Cid was at the PDC?"

"Yeah, he was looking for you," Wedge explains offhandedly. "He figured there was a chance you'd be there when he heard there was a prisoner transport arriving."

Tifa's eyes meet Yuffie's; they both remember the last conversation Tifa had with Cid. Remorse hits her, and she looks away. Yuffie dials a number and brings the phone to her ear.

"Hey," she says once Cid picks up. "We found Tifa. Yeah, she's fine. Sure. There you go," she tells Tifa while handing her the phone.

Tifa takes it, a little nervous. Should she start by apologizing?

"Hey, Cid," she greets instead.

"You hurt, kid?" His voice is strained, gruffer than usual.

"I'm all right."

"Good, then I'm gonna cut to the chase. I need your help."

Tifa glances at Yuffie and Wedge as they discuss something quietly, their attention elsewhere. "What's up?"

"Cloud's here and he's in bad shape."

Taken aback, she fumbles over her words. "Cloud? What? Where? The bar?"

"No, at the garage. He's passed out for now."

Even more confused, Tifa just asks, "What happened?"

"I didn't know where you were, and there was something going on at the PDC earlier. I was checking it out in case you were there."

"I was," she replies, dreading where this is going.

"Yeah? Didn't see you. Well, there was a girl, a Carrier, she made a scene?"

"I saw some of it. I ran away when she did." She swallows; she doesn't want to hear what's next.

"Well, I don't know who she was, but I think Cloud was looking to break her out. They shot her and he was gonna go after the soldiers. I dragged him —"

"Cloud was there?" Tifa interrupts. The confirmation of Aerith's death swirls through her, but she pushes it aside for now.

"I spotted him heading for the front. Easy with that damn mess of hair. The kid had a knife out and was ready to fight them. I convinced him to back down and now he's passed out in my office."

Tifa's hand clench around the phone. This is bad, she thinks, this is really fucking bad.

"Cid," she says, her voice both cool and insistent, "you can't be there when he wakes up."

She can sense Cid's bafflement through the phone. "Why the hell not?"

She kind of hates herself for spilling Cloud's secret. "He's a Carrier. He can't control his ability and if he wakes up and gets emotional, you're done for."

Silence is her answer. That's when she realizes Wedge and Yuffie are now listening attentively.

"Cid, check if he has mako on him," she continues. "Make him swallow it."

"Fuck, kid, how do you — never mind. He only has his jacket with him, Tifa. I'm not gonna search through his clothes."

Tifa grows urgent. "He could burn down the place, so I think it's worth it. He can't wake up without it, Cid."

On the other end of the line, Cid mumbles incoherently, and she hears him moving around. Fifteen seconds later, he comes back on the phone.

"I can't find anything."

"Did you actually look?" Tifa asks, sceptical.

"Listen, kid, I'm empty handed, all right? Do you have any alternatives or am I supposed to die later today?"

Rolling her eyes at his dramatics, she thinks back to the mako hidden in her room. Barret gave it to her two years ago as a fail-safe; she's never had to use it. She's not aware if mako expires, but it's their best shot right now.

Tifa takes a deep breath. She's about to blow years of secrecy away.

"I have some at the bar."

She dismisses Wedge's surprise and Yuffie's wide eyes. Cid doesn't react, taking it in stride.

"Okay, then how soon can you be here?"

"As soon as I can," is her vague answer. "And Cid, knock him out if he wakes up."

"Knock him _out_? Are you fucking cra —"

She hangs up without saying goodbye, too focused on the people in the same room as her. It's not that she's afraid they'll turn on her; she knows them better than that. It's that they've never discussed Carriers candidly. Despite them fighting all together for a better world, Carriers have never been Avalanche's biggest topic of discussion, something Tifa has always struggled with. And she realizes she doesn't want to talk about this very much right now.

"Yuffie, ask Barret about the mako; he knows where it is. Meet me at Cid's garage after." Tifa makes a move to get up, but Yuffie signals at her to stay put.

"Wait a second," Yuffie starts, hands on her hips. "You can't go outside like that. There are soldiers everywhere. They could recognize you." She rummages through the bag she brought, coming out with a knit beanie, a different colour shirt, and a men's jacket. "I thought it could be necessary."

Grateful for the lack of invasive questions, Tifa cradles the items to her chest. The jacket will be too big, but not so much that it will look awkward on her. "Thank you."

With a self-conscious smile, Yuffie takes out one last item. A pair of scissors. It takes Tifa a few seconds to understand why. When she does, she glances down.

"Tifa, you know it's better this way," Wedge says with gentleness. They all know how proud she is of her hair. She can't remember what she looked like with a shorter length.

Tifa nods and inhales deeply. "Let's do it."

It doesn't take long. Yuffie is careful but clearly no hairdresser; she chops the strands until they hang right above Tifa's shoulders in a straight curtain. The ends are uneven, but not to a point where it looks horrible. Tifa tells herself she'll fix it later — whenever later will be.

"Done," Yuffie calls out, sounding a little proud. She plays with the scissors, twirling them around until her grip falters and they go flying towards Wedge, who sidesteps with a glare to avoid them. Tifa rolls her eyes as she goes in a corner to change into the new clothes. Once she's done, she stands in front of the lopsided mirror. She doesn't like what she sees, and turns away quickly.

"All right," she says, voice loud. Yuffie and Wedge stop their bickering at the sound. "I'm leaving. Meet me as soon as possible." She rolls the sleeves of the jacket as she speaks; the ends hung over her fingers.

Yuffie feels the need to add an unsure, "You look nice?"

Tifa doesn't bother answering her. She crosses the room towards the exit as Wedge tells her to be careful. She nods, stepping outside the apartment and shutting the door behind her. Taking a deep breath, she heads outside.

—

Cid waits for her at the back entrance of his garage. Foot propped up against the wall, cigarette in hand, hair dishevelled — Tifa would never have thought him stressed. But the second he spots her, he puts out the cigarette and ushers her in.

"The hell happened to you?"

Tifa glances her around, looking for the other employees.

Cid catches on it. "I sent everyone home after what you told me. So?"

"Got arrested," she says as she shrugs off the oversized jacket.

"And?"

And she doesn't feel like reliving the whole ordeal. "And I escaped. Now's not the time."

He snorts. "You got the mako?"

"Yuffie's bringing it. It's at the bar and I can't go."

"You can't go?" He asks, taken aback. "What the fuck did you do, kid?"

"Nothing. I don't know." She sighs. "I was at the wrong place at the wrong time, and they ran my ID. Didn't come out clean. Now I'm on some wanted list."

Cid frowns. "You're on what?"

Rubbing her hand across her face, Tifa shakes her head. "I don't even know. Ask Yuffie when she gets here."

"This is confusing," he mumbles.

Tifa agrees silently. She tugs the beanie off, doing her best to ignore Cid's surprised look.

"Your hair," he says. When she doesn't reply, he adds, "You look nice?"

She can't help but roll her eyes. "That's what Yuffie said, too."

Thankfully, Cid notices her hair isn't a topic she wants to discuss, and he lets it go. With a wave of his hand, he motions her towards what she assumes is the office. He opens the door for her, letting her walk in alone.

There's nothing particularly alarming about Cloud. He's spread out on the couch, one hand on his stomach. It's bloody, though, and she wagers it would be unusual on anyone else. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was napping. But she does know better, and now she only hopes Yuffie gets here in time. She's never witnessed him losing control, but she's not too keen to do so. Not with such a destructive ability.

Tifa exits the room, gently shutting the door behind her. Arms crossed across his chest, Cid waits. She expects he wants to talk about what happened, about her knowing Cloud's secret, about her own. The urge to tell him it's none of his business is strong.

She settles on a nicer variant. "I don't want to talk about it."

"That's fair," he replies, so fast she guesses he'd anticipated her words. "But I just wanted to tell you I don't care about that."

Cid's feelings regarding Carriers has never been a mystery to Tifa. Most of the time, she wishes it had been; his frankness has brought him trouble in the past. Still, his declaration warms her. Before today, Barret and Cloud were the only ones who knew; now, her reality had to shift to include more people, and the lack of judgment so far has been comforting. Not a feeling she would have ever associated with being a Carrier.

"Thank you," she tells Cid, meaning it.

After that, they wait. At some point, Cid leaves the room, coming back a while later with tea. The drink warms her as it slides down her throat. She stays out of the office, keeping to the employee breakroom or to wandering the garage. An hour passes, and she grows restless. Shouldn't Yuffie be back by now? Though he doesn't say it, she can see Cid thinks the same. His pacing and agitated movements give him away.

Twenty minutes later, they hear a knock coming from the back. Both of them jump to their feet; Cid gets to the door first. Yuffie stands on the other side, and she grumbles as she pushes her way through. Tifa steps forward.

"You have it?"

"Yeah, yeah." Yuffie's tone is exasperated. She dips a hand in her bag, handing out the syringe to Tifa, who takes it. "I gotta say, I don't know how you live like this," she adds to Tifa. "It felt like everyone was out to get me."

"You get used it," Tifa lies as she walks away and into the office.

Cloud is still motionless other than the steady rise and fall of his chest. Making sure not to jostle him too much, she sits on the edge of the couch, and brings his arm closer to her. She cleans the crook of his elbow with the antiseptic she found in the garage's bathroom earlier.

He's got marks, she realizes as she removes the cap from the needle and positions it across his skin. She runs her thumbs over them; there aren't a lot, but there are enough to let her know he's been using for a while. Maybe she could show him to keep it check. She bites her lip. Or maybe not. In a few days, the world spun too fast; she feels as if it's crooked, like she's teetering on the edge of something she can't predict. She can't tell if Cloud will be there once reality rights itself.

The needle draws a little blood as she injects him. She gets to her feet not long after to discard the syringe and wash her hands. When she comes back, she comes to an abrupt halt in the doorway.

Cloud groans as he stirs and lifts his arms to his head. He rubs his hands over his face and hair, unaware of his surroundings. Tifa stays where she is as hesitation takes over her. She figures she should let him get out on his own.

It starts with a hitch in his breath; Cloud's body shakes, slightly at first, then full on tremors as he gasps for air.

"Cid!" Tifa shouts as she rushes to Cloud's side. His hands form fists over his eyes, and she can't pry them away. She hears the fall of footsteps heading her way, and a second later, Cid and Yuffie burst into the office.

Cloud's gulps loudly, sounding like he's choking, and Tifa panics. She drags him upright, thankful when Cid comes over to help her. Together, they sit him up. In a brusque move, Cid shoves Cloud's head between his own knees, keeping him there.

"All right, kid, you gotta breathe," Cid tells him, his voice full of his usual harshness.

Yuffie takes a few steps closer. "I don't think he can hear you."

"Shut up, Yuffie," Tifa barks. The pulse of her heartbeat goes crazy. They got lucky she gave him the mako when she did.

In the background, Cid keeps on with his instructions. "Take a deep breath, keep it in, exhale. C'mon, kid."

He brings Cloud's head back up. Cloud moves his mouth like he's about to speak, but all that comes out is a garbled cry, and it makes things worse. His breathing speeds up even more; he fights for air and can't seem to find any.

"Goddamn it," Cid exclaims as he forces Cloud's head down again. "Help me out here!"

Tifa doesn't know what to do; she guesses he's having a bad panic attack—not something she's ever had to deal with before. She decides on repeating what Cid said before while adopting a softer tone.

"Cloud, listen to us. Breathe in, hold it, breathe out." She says the words over and over until his breathing evens out gradually. Cid pulled him straight up again, and she notices Cloud's eyes are open, but unseeing. His head in one hand, he stares at the other—the bloody one—with blurred eyes. Tifa senses the distress emanating from him—he's breaking, she realizes.

"You should leave," she says to the others. Without any protest, they go out of the room. Cid throws an understanding glance at Cloud before letting the door shut behind him.

The moment it does, Tifa focuses on Cloud again; he's crying silent tears, still in his own world.

"Hey," she murmurs. "Hey, lay down, okay?" She can't help but run a hand through his hair, hoping to soothe him. To her surprise, he listens; she guides him as he falls back into the sofa. Once he's settled, she stalls, unsure if she should stay. His quiet weeping evolves into loud sobs that rake his body. Afraid he'll choke like earlier, Tifa shoves the only pillow under his head; he doesn't even react, too lost in grief.

Tifa supresses her rising emotions. It breaks her heart to see him in this state, knowing she had a chance to spare him from it. But she can't let her thoughts go there—not right now.

With a deep sigh, she gets up. She doesn't believe Cloud would like her to see him like this, so vulnerable and defeated. With a final look in his direction, she exits the room. She drops against the closed door, suddenly exhausted.

She finds Yuffie and Cid in the tiny employee kitchen and break room. For once, they aren't arguing; instead, she's surprised to see them play cards. When he sees her, Cid kicks a chair out from under the table.

"Wanna play? We just started."

Tifa shakes her head but sits next to them nonetheless.

"How is he?" Cid asks while keeping an eye on the game.

"Bad." She doesn't want to give them details. "You got here right on time," she says to Yuffie.

"Impeccable timing is one of my many talents."

Tifa chooses not to disagree, partly because she can't dispute the first part. She watches the cards swipe hands in silence.

"So, kid," Cid starts, "care to tell me what actually happened now?"

Tifa runs a hand through her hair, startling at the short length. "Sure." She feels less guarded now, or maybe she's just tired. "They were after a Carrier kid and some guy, I don't know who he was exactly. I was there when they got to them." She doesn't think it's necessary to mention how it ended. A flash to the conversation between the Captain and the officer comes back to her. "One thing was weird, though. They said the child was registered."

Yuffie frowns. "Registered?"

"Yeah, I don't know what it means either." Tifa licks her lips as she considers what it suggests. "I don't like to think they've got us in some secret database. Cid, you worked for Shinra before—you know what it could be?"

Cid hates being reminded of that part of his past, and he grimaces at her question.

"I've never heard of 'registered' Carriers when I worked there. But that was years ago. Things got worse since then."

Yes, they did, Tifa thinks. Ever since Rufus Shinra took over the corporation for his father. Not that things were good before. She has a hard time believing things were ever good in Midgard.

"Anyway," she sighs, "like I said before, something was up with my ID. Pretty sure it involves Avalanche."

Cid grunts. "That would explain the wanted list part."

"Don't worry, I'm already working on something." Yuffie shrugs likes it's no big deal.

Tifa raises her eyebrows. "You're not thinking of hacking a secret Shinra website, are you?"

"Of course not," Yuffie lies in an obvious manner.

"Don't make things worse," Cid warns.

There it is, Tifa thinks as they start bickering. She lets their quarrelling wash over her; the background noise reminds her of 7th Heaven, of home. Whatever Yuffie wants to do, she'll let her. She wants to go back.

She has to.

—


	11. Chapter eleven

**A\N:** This is like 90% dialogue.

—

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

—

11

—

It's dark when Cloud wakes up. The neon lights flash through the open blinds, drawing kaleidoscopic shapes over the walls. He doesn't know where he is, his surroundings unfamiliar. It's—an office? He sits up with difficulty; his body feels raw, his movements sluggish. His mind is incoherent—thoughts are jumbled and scattered, and nothing makes sense. Where the fuck is he? How did he even get in this state?

A bright slash of pink light drifts over him, blinding him. When he opens his eyes, he notices someone across from him. Bathed in rose-coloured brightness, a girl sits huddled in an armchair. He takes her in—the jacket swallowing her, the hair brushing her shoulders, the boots he's seen before. He knows her. It's Tifa, and he realizes he already knew she was here as words echo faintly in his ears, the sole remnants of a memory that makes his heart race.

 _Cloud, listen to us. Breathe in, hold it, breathe out. Hey. Hey, lay down, okay?_

He flinches.

It comes back to him—piece by piece at first, then all at once. The fountain, the crowd, the gunshot, the garage. Cid, dragging him here; Tifa, trying to get him to calm down; a short girl, standing in the corner.

The Captain, pulling the trigger and walking away. Aerith, collapsing and never getting up.

His new reality hits him hard. Cloud's chest cave in from his sharp intake of breath. The confusion he woke up to spirals into disorder, and the pathetic restrain he had over his emotions vanishes. He jumps to his feet clumsily, afraid of what's coming.

But nothing happens. No burst of fire, no rise in the temperature. His erratic breathing is the only indication of his agitation.

Someone gave him mako. He brings his hand to the hidden pocket in his jacket—the bottle is still there. That's when he becomes aware one of his sleeves is rolled up above his elbow.

His eyes seek Tifa. She's still sleeping, still curled up around herself in her seat. It has to be her since Cid doesn't know—or at least didn't before today. There's no way to tell if he does now, and Cloud doesn't want to be around to find out. He unrolls the sleeve of his jacket, and spots the dried blood caking his hand. He glances away.

There's a strange tranquility taking over him as he leaves the room. It's like his mind is listing facts, hurtful blows he accepts one by one. He doesn't linger on them, doesn't take the time to digest them. Instead, he lets them lodge themselves within him until they are all he sees.

Aerith is gone. Zack and the Fairs are dead. He's wanted. He has no home. He's alone.

The thoughts morph as he navigates the poorly lit garage in search of the exit. They grow and grow and take so much space in his mind. They ring in his ears.

The Captain murdered Aerith. Shinra hunted down the Fairs. Shinra destroyed his life. He's got nothing and no one to lose.

An indistinct memory washes over him, more of a feeling than an image. He remembers his rage when his ability came to him—remembers wanting to take down Shinra and burn down Midgard. The memory becomes alive and eats him whole.

He can take down the Captain.

And he will. It'll be the last thing he'll ever do. Doesn't matter—he wants nothing else but watch the man burn.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Cid's voice is loud in the darkness; his footsteps resonate as he comes closer. Soon after, the lights turn on, dazzling Cloud. He's in a small kitchen, more of a break room for employees; he was about to trip on a pushed back chair. When his eyes have adjusted, he looks at Cid. The man's seen better days—his hair is a mess and his clothes are rumpled, like he'd been sleeping.

Cid grabs the ashtray on the counter and places it on the table as he sits down. He lights a cigarette.

"So?"

Cloud doesn't want to reply since the answer is painful, and still—still he owes Cid. He figures courtesy is the least he can do.

"Nowhere," he says.

Cid grunts. "Drop the fucking attitude, kid. I'm not in the mood."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Cloud stays silent, unsure of what he should say; he has no other answer for Cid. The pause grows until Cid kicks out a chair from under the table.

"Sit," he orders.

Wary, Cloud does so. Cid leans forward.

"Listen, kid. What happened earlier—"

"I don't want to talk about that," Cloud snaps.

Cid's retort is immediate. "Did I say 'talk'? I told you to listen."

Cloud makes a move to get up, already fed up.

"Sit your ass down," Cid's voice raises into a shout. "Do you know what I'm risking right now?" When his question is met with silence, he carries on, softer. "Do you, kid?"

Cloud freezes; he can't tell how he feels right now. Maybe ashamed at his own attitude, maybe just tired, maybe vexed at Cid's reaction. His next words come out wrong.

"I didn't ask you to do any of this."

"Fucking hell," Cid whispers, rubbing a hand over his face. "All right, you're gonna shut the fuck up and hear me out. No, shut up, okay?" He adds as Cloud opens his mouth. He takes a moment to put out his cigarette, to regain his composure. "I'm not too sure what went down today, but I know what you want to do, kid. Don't throw your life away. Sephiroth isn't worth it."

"Sephiroth?" Cloud repeats in a whisper. His hands clench into fists, and he hides them under the table.

Cid sighs. "Captain Sephiroth. He's the one who…" He visibly hesitates. "The one you're after. He's been around for a few years now."

"Who says I'm after him?"

"Don't lie, kid. I know those eyes."

"You barely know me, Cid."

"Yeah?" Cid throws him a frustrated glare. "Then tell me you weren't gonna walk out to hunt that man down."

Cloud scoffs. "I don't have to justify myself to you."

"All right, don't. Don't. The door's that way." Cid raises his hands in surrender.

Unsure of his next move, Cloud stays put. When Cid says nothing else, he gets annoyed, and stands up. He's almost to the door when Cid speaks up again.

"You know, I used to work for Shinra."

Cloud tenses without meaning to. If he notices, Cid doesn't care; the smell of smoke fills the air.

"I was part of Engineering. It was all good until they wanted to assign me to another division. Weapons Development. I was lucky—they gave me the choice."

He waits, and Cloud guesses he's expecting him to say something, to react. With a sense of defeat, he turns sideways until Cid is visible.

"And you said no?"

"I said yes." Cid shrugs. "Pay was better; benefits, too. Hours, not so much, but I could deal with that." He taps his cigarette over the ashtray. "It was good, for a while." His eyes drift away as he goes on. "Then that dick Rufus Shinra showed up. He wasn't President, then; his father was. The kid was 24 or something like that. Smart as hell. He kept talking about Carriers and how they could make them useful to Shinra."

Cloud lets the words sink in, his attention revived. "You mean—human weapons?"

"Kinda like that." Cid sighs again. "They brought in a kid one day. Seventeen. We kept him sedated so he couldn't do anything. Ran all sort of tests on him. We tried to replicate his ability into a weapon. One day, Rufus showed up. He was angry at the lack of results. Said we had to start over with another ability."

"They got another Carrier?"

"Yeah. Got rid of the first one. Over and over. They put poison in their food. Less messy this way."

"You knew all this?" Cloud asks even though he doesn't want to hear the answer. Fuck, he wishes he had known none of this.

Cid takes a deep breath. "Yeah."

"And what did you do?"

"And—nothing. At first, I did nothing. I didn't want to be part of this, but it was like I had no choice, not anymore. I didn't believe in the shit we were trying to do." He drops his forgotten cigarette in the ashtray. "Anyway, like Tifa says, I ran my mouth. Asked too many questions, made some unwanted comments. Shinra fired me and made it impossible for me to find a job as an engineer anywhere else."

Feeling somewhat overwhelmed, Cloud goes back to his discarded seat. His head is spinning from everything that happened today, from everything he got told right now.

"Did you try to help?" He asks—it's the one question he needs an answer to. "Did you ever try to help them?"

When Cid looks him in the eye, he gets hopeful.

"No," Cid replies, all honesty. "They would have killed me."

A vague wave of disappointment crashes through Cloud; it's not as intense as he would have thought. Then again, he's never expected much of non-Carriers. They could never understand.

"What's the point in telling me all this?"

"Because _now_ I have the strength to help." Cid's eyes gleam. "Let me help you, kid. You have nowhere to go? Stay here."

Cloud swallows with difficulty.

"Harbouring Carriers is a death sentence."

But Cid only holds his stare, unwavering.

Shaking his head, Cloud says, "My mind's made up. I'm going after the Captain."

"You still need a place to stay."

Cloud is silent for a moment. The noise of the city is muted, but ever present, a reminder of what's waiting for him out there. "You won't try to change my mind?"

At this, Cid bursts into loud laughter. "I will fucking nag you to hell, kid. Be ready."

The sound of a door closing alerts them to Tifa's impending presence. Soon, she appears in the doorframe.

"Hi," she says.

Her eyes stop on Cloud. For a second, he lets himself stare back. He can see how weary she is; it shows in her expression, in the drop of her shoulders. He blinks and looks away.

"You hungry?" Cid asks. "You've barely eaten anything since you got here."

Tifa makes her way to the table and sits down. "Not really. I'm just—" Her voice trails off.

"Tired?"

She sends a stifled smile in Cid's direction. "You could say that."

Cid still gets up. "You need to eat."

"Cid—"

"Shut up, kid. I'm sure we've got something edible in there."

As he grumbles and rummages through the cupboards, Tifa turns to Cloud.

"How are you feeling?"

He doesn't have an answer—doesn't _want_ to answer, really. A lie dances on the tip of his tongue, but he suppresses the urge. Instead, he stays silent, and Tifa ends up diverting her attention to Cid as he drops a box of unopened cookies in front of her.

"Thanks." The way she says it reeks of defeat and exhaustion; Cloud thinks he might be the cause of some of it. In normal circumstances, he would hate it.

He's being cold, he realizes. And he can't help it. There's something about Tifa that brings out an intensity in the way he feels. He can't allow that to take over him right now, he just can't.

"So what you gonna do?"

It takes Cloud a second to understand the question isn't aimed at him but at Tifa. He would be lying if he said he wasn't a little intrigued.

Tifa grabs a cookie from the plastic tray. Once she's done with it, she speaks. "I'm not sure yet." A sideway glance thrown Cloud's way. "We'll talk about it tomorrow."

"What happened?" The words are out his mouth before he can swallow them.

Her reaction isn't one he would have expected. Tifa looks down as she crosses her arm over the table; she's hunching forward, and he can't help but think she seems guilty.

She runs a hand through her hair. "I got into trouble."

By Cid's scowl, Cloud can guess her answer isn't entirely truthful. When she doesn't elaborate, Cid takes it upon himself.

"She got arrested."

"Cid—" Tifa hisses.

"For being—" Cloud stops himself, glances at Cid. The man already knows about him, but maybe not about Tifa.

"Because she's a Carrier?" Cid snorts. "No, kid. Because she was at the wrong place at the wrong time."

Cloud notices the tension leave Tifa's shoulders. She's still hiding something.

"They let you out?" He asks, curious. Something's not adding up. Why would she be so defensive if being unlucky was all there was to it?

He sees the moment she makes up her mind. She doesn't reply at first, then she plays with her hair again, only to inhale deeply.

"I escaped," she says.

"From the Sector jail? How?"

Cid clears his throat but says nothing.

Tifa sighs, and she won't meet his eyes. "From the prisoner transport."

Cloud frowns. "The prisone—"

The pieces fall into place.

Tifa was at the PDC. She saw what happened. He senses his breathing quicken. He's still missing something in all this. Why would she look so fucking _sorry_ —and goddamn it, he knows the answer.

"You knew—" He can barely form the words, even less so her name.

"Not really," Tifa admits. "But she was my cellmate for a night."

"And you escaped?" He whispers because otherwise he feels like he might shout.

Tifa nods.

The anger infiltrating him is irrational. He can tell. There's no real reason to be mad at Tifa; she did nothing _wrong_. But he knows how she escaped; she ran, and she ran so fast no one could catch her. The idea she could have helped Aerith—it swamps his mind. Don't, he tells himself, don't blame her for this; she doesn't deserve it. She didn't pull the trigger. The Captain did. She wasn't the one who put Aerith in danger. He did.

"Kid," Cid says. "Snap out of it."

Cloud ignores him. He's still watching Tifa, who raises her gaze to meet his. And fuck, he can see how much she's already torturing herself over this.

"Cloud—" That's all she says, so gently, and he senses his emotions skidding down a dangerous slope.

He nods and tears his eyes away. Now's not the time. Tifa understands and switches topic after a long pause.

He doesn't listen after that, not really. Tifa and Cid talk something trivial he doesn't care about. Fragments of conversation threaten to grab his attention; he dismisses them. He's not sure why he's still here listening, but he stays, not willing to be left alone. Maybe it's childish of him, but he doesn't want to sit in the dark and remember. The muted discussion provides him with background noise, just enough to distract him.

Cid gets to his feet after a while, and Cloud realizes they've been sitting for over an hour.

"I'm going back to sleep." Cid ruffles Cloud's hair as he walks out of the room. "See ya."

"Night," Tifa calls out; she makes no move to follow.

Anxiety overruns Cloud all of the sudden, and it only grows when she twists to face him.

"Do you—" She begins, but he cuts her off.

"I don't feel like talking," he mumbles.

"Oh." Tifa blinks. The hand that had been reaching for him halts. "Okay. Then, I'll just—" She doesn't finish her sentence. Instead, she pushes her chair back.

"Don't," Cloud says abruptly. He sighs as he takes in her confusion. "Sorry. Don't go." He gulps his feelings down. "Please."

"All right." He sees her face change as she understands what he means. "We don't have to talk," she adds, all softness.

He nods again.

"But can we go back to the office?" She tries to smile but it falls short. "This chair is uncomfortable."

Cloud trails behind her as she leads the way. Once in the room, his insides contort as he recalls his panic attack.

"You can take the couch," he tells her as he drops into the armchair.

Tifa doesn't turn on the lights; she only falls backwards on the old sofa. He can make out the outline of her body as she gets comfortable. As promised, she says nothing, and he's thankful for it.

It's not that long until tiredness takes a hold of him. His head drops forward, jerking him away from slumber. Across the room, Tifa moves around, still awake.

"Hey," he whispers.

"Hey."

"Thanks for the mako."

Tifa doesn't answer immediately. Then, she says, "I'm sorry I spilled your secret."

"Did you know about Cid?"

"Yeah."

He yawns. "Okay."

Tifa says something else, but he doesn't catch it. "What?"

He hears her take a deep breath. "Goodnight."

"G'night," he mumbles.

Tomorrow, he thinks as he drifts off, tomorrow he'll search for the Captain.

He'll find him. And he'll kill him.

—


	12. Chapter twelve

**A\N:** Times are a little trying right now, so I tried to get this done as quickly as I could, but didn't get much time to revise, FYI.

—

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

—

12

—

It takes two days before Tifa gets to speak to Barret. By then, she's sick of Cid's garage, and sick of her own company. Though he kept the place closed the day after everything went down, Cid had no choice but to reopen soon enough. Business needs to go on after all and closing down the garage for too long could raise suspicions amongst the employees. Cloud and her keep to the office to avoid them, but Tifa soon noticed they don't seem to care who she and Cloud are. Cid's poor excuse of them being his niece and nephew appeared to have been well-received.

Despite their situation being similar, Cloud and her don't spend a lot of time together. Or rather, they do, but silence reigns. It was fine at first; Tifa didn't mind since she understood Cloud needed company. But there's a sinister edge to his quietude; he stares into the void, his focus unbroken, and she worries. She's already got herself and Avalanche to worry about—she's not so sure she can take care of Cloud.

It's a much-needed distraction when Barret calls in the middle of the afternoon. Tifa is sitting on the armchair, reading a book on physics she found lying around. The content flies a thousand feet over her head, but at least it keeps her busy. Cid walks in as she's going over a section concerning thermodynamics. She lifts her head at the intrusion, tensing when she realizes he's on the phone. The book immediately gets dismissed.

Cid's eyebrows raise to his hairline when he takes in the textbook, but he doesn't comment on it. He hands her the phone.

"It's for you," is all he says before exiting the office.

She brings the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Tifa," Barret grumbles.

"Hi," she breathes out as relief runs through her. It's immense in its intensity, and so overwhelming that she senses tears stinging her eyes.

"Goddamn it, kiddo." Barret's voice trembles. "You had me scared."

Tifa inhales harshly; a few tears escape, and so does a hiccup. The words trigger a playback of the last few days. Everything rushes through her mind, her body. She shakes as she remembers fearing for her life; fearing for the lives of others like her; feeling guilty for doing nothing; fearing never seeing home and Barret again.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, over and over. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, no, goddamn, no, Tifa, don't be sorry." Barret regains his composure at her apology. He's always been like that, always been ready to take control when she can't. "You don't have to be sorry."

She can't accept that. "I put you all in danger. I said I would be careful."

"Hey." He finds his authoritative tone. "Listen to me. We don't know how they go that info, all right? We're all fine over here. You'll be able to see that soon."

His last statement catches her attention, breaking through her low spirits. "What? How come?"

Barret pauses, then admits, "I'm not too sure." He carries on before she can speak. "Yuffie checked that Shinra list again, and they've removed you from it."

Tifa wipes her cheeks, erasing her tears. "I don't get it. She said she'd hack it or something."

"Which I told her not to do. You know it would have been a dangerous move, even for her."

"Yeah, I agree. But then—"

"I don't know, kiddo. Yesterday you were there, today you're not."

She sighs. "Is it too much to hope they made a mistake in the first place?"

"I'll pretend you didn't say that."

"Yeah, yeah." With difficulty, she asks, "Are you sure I should come home?"

"You'll have to lie low, I guess. Just long enough for us to figure out what happened. But I think it'll be all right. We miss you, Tifa. And I miss my kid."

She nods, knowing he can't see her, but emotions flood her and she finds herself unable to speak. Barret's always been like a father to her, and she's always known he sees her as his daughter. But it's not something they vocalize often; hearing it now, after what nearly happened, hits her hard.

Barret gives her the time she needs, and she appreciates it. "Thanks," she ends up saying. She clears her throat. "Is today good?"

"Today's perfect. Be careful." The warning rings truer than ever.

"I will."

"Good. Then I'll see you later." He waits until she confirms to hang up, and once he does, Tifa stares at the phone.

She's going home.

The feeling's strange—it's joyous, overwhelming so, but there's an alarming undertone. Shinra doesn't make mistakes. Or if they do, they don't care to rectify them. Something weird is going on, she thinks as she gets to her feet. That it could be a trap doesn't escape her. Whatever the reason for her arrest was, she still ran away, and that means they could still look for her. If they discovered someone stumbled upon their wanted list, they could have erased her from it to make her feel safe and draw her out.

She goes in search of Cid; she might need help to cross the Sectors. Maybe she'll find Cloud along the way; he went to get snacks in the kitchen a while ago and didn't come back. And she does, or rather, she hears his voice mixed with Cid's. It's just echoes of intelligible words coming from the back alley exit. As she gets closer, she catches on to what they're saying.

"—not worth it."

"I don't care." Cloud's voice is tense, angry.

"You thought of what happens if you bring them here? What happens to Tifa and me and my employees?"

Tifa's heart races, and she counts the beats until Cloud's reply.

"I won't come back."

"Uh-uh. Great plan." Cid claps. "If you do this alone, you only got one outcome."

She hears footsteps. "There's no other way to do this."

"Kid—hey! You walk out of that door, there's no coming back. Think twice about it."

"Cid." The word is ground out in annoyance. "I told you, I made my choice."

"All right, all right, quit it with the dramatic statements. What if I told you there was another way?"

Cloud's snort is answer enough.

"There are people who can help you, kid."

At this, Tifa turns the corner she'd been hiding behind, making her presence known. Cid doesn't see her, but Cloud does, and his gaze finds hers.

"Taking down Shinr—"

"Cid," Tifa cuts him off.

He jumps at her voice and turns around to face her. "Great," he grumbles.

Tifa's temper rears up at his attitude. This is exactly why she'd been against him joining. She does her best to keep her calm, but after the recent events, she's not in the mood to compromise Avalanche.

"I need to speak with you. In private," she adds.

"Oh, no way." Cid points at Cloud. "I'm not letting him out of my sight."

An exasperated sigh from Cloud. "I'm not sure what's going on between you two." He waves at them. "But I have a good idea what he was about to say."

Tifa swears under her breath. She'd known before today Cloud is smart; he's seen and heard enough to connect the dots. But as long as they confirm nothing, his suspicions could stay just that.

"We're part of—"

"Cid!" This time, Tifa shouts.

He sends her an irritated glance. "I know what I'm doing."

"So do I," she says through clenched teeth. Sensing defeat, she takes a deep breath to regain control. "Let's go in the office."

"I told you, I'm not—"

" _All_ of us."

Cloud tilts his head to the side in curiosity. "Okay."

A mumbling Cid leads them into the room, locking the door behind them. As soon as he does, he glares at Tifa.

"Happy now?"

"I knew you'd do this," she hisses.

"You won't even hear me out."

"You didn't talk to me about any of this!"

From the corner of her eyes, she notices a disgruntled Cloud fall back on the couch.

"I had to think fast, okay?"

"You mean you _didn't_ think."

Cid laughs. "This kid here?" He gestures at Cloud. "You know what he wants to do?"

To her displeasure, Tifa has no answer for him.

"He wants to kill the Captain. He was heading out into the streets to find him. And I don't know about you, but I like his sorry ass and I don't want him to die."

Tifa's breathing is jerky as she realizes what happened, what he chose to do. "Cid—"

"Yeah, you're sorry now."

"It's still not a decision that was yours to make," she adds softly to let him know she understands the nature of his intentions.

A throat clearing snaps them both out of their fight, and they twist to face Cloud. He looks at them, and there's a knowing flicker in his eyes that alerts Tifa.

"You guys done?"

"Maybe," Cid says.

Cloud takes a moment before he continues. "You're part of that anti-Shinra group." He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. "It explains a lot."

Tifa closes her eyes, and all the times she gave him hints without meaning to flash through her mind.

"You want me to join," he says to Cid.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"We want the same things. We can help you."

"I want to kill the fucker who—" He gulps.

"Kid." Cid approaches him. "You're really gonna tell me you don't want Shinra gone? Sephiroth is the one who pulled the trigger, but the gun was loaded long before."

Cloud lets out a shaky exhale of breath. He stays silent.

Thoughts hurtle through Tifa's minds as she watches them, as she takes in the hesitation in Cloud's features. And though she hates herself for it, an idea forms itself. Avalanche can use him, she thinks, they can channel his rage. They need to carry out their Board plan.

They need someone who's willing to kill.

She bites her tongue, dreading Cloud's upcoming decision. Making use of his sorrow is not a move she likes, but… they're at an impasse.

"Okay," Cloud ends up saying. His voice is quiet. "I'll help you as long as you can help me."

Cid lets out a laugh. "I'll take it."

They both turn to Tifa, and she hides her clenches fists behind her back.

"It's not my decision," she admits. "We need to go to 7th Heaven."

As Cid goes out of the room to gather 'elements of disguise', Cloud stays put and keeps his eyes on her. There's a distance between them, and Tifa feels it expand. Maybe if she takes the seven steps separating them, she'd close it—but she's not sure it's the right move. Her mind reminds her in a murmur of the night he came to 7th Heaven; so long ago and yet only a couple of days have passed. Things have changed and she can't let distractions cost her anymore.

"We're serious about what we're doing," she tells him, opting for a commanding, self-assured tone. She's aware she's trying to imitate Barret's.

Cloud blinks as if contemplating what she said. "So am I."

"The things we do aren't small scale acts of rebellion, and we're aiming for a bigger impact."

He shrugs. "Okay."

Seeing he can't seem to care angers Tifa. "Cloud, I need you to understand that once you're in, you can't get out. Understand what you're getting yourself into."

He leans forward, hands in his pockets, and his features contort with impatience. "And you need to understand that I'll help, for now, because I see the benefit to that. But that's all. Don't count on me to help you take down Shinra. The second you bring me close enough to my goal, I'm leaving you behind."

His words hurt, for several reasons, but Tifa lets them go. Think of the big picture, she reminds herself, think of how he can help Avalanche.

"Fine," she ends up saying. It's not _fine_ to her, not at all. But what Cid said about not letting Cloud die—it stays lodged within her. Bringing him into Avalanche is a probably a terrible idea, and yet she can't see another alternative. If he doesn't join, he walks out, and that's the last they see of him.

"Fine," she repeats without hiding the defeat in her voice.

Cloud walks around the room as they wait for Cid to come back. He touches the stuff lying around, pulls books off shelves, peeks through the blinds. Tifa watches him, thinking of how Barret might murder her for this. A minute later, Cid waltzes back in holding a grocery bag.

"All right, I got a few things."

They all gather closer. Cid hands Cloud a change of clothes and a cap. With an absent look in his eyes, Cloud takes the hat; he soon snaps out of it, putting the dark blue cap on with a brusque move. Cid shoves the plaid shirt he brought at him.

"I have a jacket for you, too."

"I'm keeping my jacket," Cloud says as he shrugs the button-up over his t-shirt.

Cid is about to retort, but Tifa shakes her head to silence him. It's not like Cloud's jacket is that identifiable, and she guesses he must have a reason for not wanting to leave it behind.

"Whatever, do what you want." Cid turns to Tifa. "I have nothing for you other than this." He shows her a pair of thick-framed glasses. "There's little strength to the lenses so you should see fine."

She feels ridiculous as she puts them on; the world distorts the tiniest amount, but it's not enough to bother her.

"How are we even getting to Sector 7? We can't use our train pass."

"We'll use my car and go trough Sector 4."

Cloud hums his agreement and moves towards the door. Cid makes to follow, but Tifa doesn't.

"Wait."

They both stop and turn. She walks up to Cloud.

"You haven't told us why you're on the run."

His hesitation is subtle, but she senses it.

"I got outed as a Carrier, you know that."

"Actually, no, I don't." She crosses her arms. "If you're coming with us, I need to know."

In a flash, his exasperation returns. "Well, that's what happened. Someone I knew turned out to be working for Shinra."

"And?"

"And—" He grips the back of his neck, his body taut. She realizes he's exerting himself to keep everything under control; the mako should have faded by now.

She decides to change tactics. "Just tell me if there's anything about your situation I need to know."

Cloud licks his lips. "There's one thing."

Tifa nods.

"The guy who came for me was an agent."

It's her turn to stiffen. "What do you mean? Like a spy?"

"Probably? He was undercover for years; that's how I met him. And the soldiers he sent after me called him Agent James."

"Shit."

"What?" Cid comes closer. "What is it?"

Tifa rubs her forehead. "I think he's got a Turk after him."

"Oh, that sounds bad. What's a Turk?"

"In theory they're high-ranked members of the military. Intelligence officers, basically. Of course, that means we know next to nothing about them." She sighs. "Agent James. I'll keep that in mind."

Cloud's mouth twists to the side. "He also goes by the name Reno."

"Noted. All right, we should leave."

Her last thought as they gather their things is that, yeah, Barret will definitely murder her.

—

It's Barret who opens the back alley door for them. He smiles at first, but it disappears when he spots Cloud.

"Who's that?"

Tifa drags him away before Cid can answer. "We need to talk." She walks them into the office and locks the door.

"Tifa…"

She raises a hand to silence him. "I'm telling you in advance, you're not going to like this."

With a sigh, he goes to sit in his chair behind the desk. He stares at her, fingers steepled over his stomach.

"Well? Who's the kid?"

"A friend. His name is Cloud, and he's a Carrier."

"And?"

"Shinra killed his—friend and he wants revenge."

Barret hides in face in the palm of his hand. His lack of answer tells her he gets where this is going. She comes closer and sits on the edge of the desk.

"Cid kinda told him about Avalanche, and he wants to join."

He looks up, incredulous. "Cid told him just like that? Goddamn it."

Tifa bites her lip, holding in the I-told-you-so. Now's not the time. "Cid thought he was helping him. I tried to stop him, but I think it only made it more obvious we were hiding something."

"This kid doesn't want to join for a good reason. He could rogue at any time."

"Yes," Tifa admits. She pulls the sleeves of her jacket over her knuckles. She's fidgeting. "But he could be useful. What's the plan with Heidegger so far?"

Barret keeps quiet a moment; he observes her, his eyes keen. "Jesse found something while you were gone. She's been trailing him after work these last two weeks, and he goes to Sector 4 on Tuesday nights. Apparently, he goes to some private club hidden in the slums."

"Alone?"

"With a bodyguard. But Jesse says he stays near the car. I'm having her follow him again this week so we know it's solid intel."

Tifa raises her eyes to his. "But what's the point of all this if we don't have anyone to carry out the hit?"

"You're saying the kid could do it?"

She tries to appear casual. "I'm saying he's angry at Shinra and was willing to kill to get his revenge. We could channel that to our advantage."

Barret leans forward a little. "And you're okay with that?"

Not really—the words almost burst out, but she holds them inside. "I want Avalanche to succeed more than anything else," she says.

He nods. "It could be a good idea."

"You should know he's probably got a Turk after him. He got outed as a Carrier and is on the run."

"Great." Barret snorts. "So he needs a place to stay?"

"Yeah. I was thinking he could stay here. I think it'd be a little risky to have him come and go."

"You still got that spare room?"

"I need to clean it up a little, but yeah, it should be fine."

"All right," he says. "Everyone's here already. Bring him downstairs in five."

A little surprised by how easy this turned out to be, Tifa leaves without protesting. She finds Cloud and Cid in the main area, playing darts.

"So?" Cid calls out as he steps forward to throw.

"Introductions in five minutes."

Cid's dart lands outside the ring. "I knew it!"

He claps Cloud on the back, who merely nods before throwing his own dart. It lands on the bullseye.

They keep on playing until Tifa tells them to follow her. It's been over five minutes, but she wanted to give Barret enough time to inform the others. Squeezing all three of them through the packed storage room proves a challenge. Tifa inputs her code, and the wall panel slides back. She chances a glance in Cloud's direction; he still wears a disinterested expression. As they reach the end of the staircase, voices get louder.

Tifa enters the room first. A few welcoming cries resound, and she smiles. It feels good to be back here. Silence falls when Cloud crosses the threshold. He glances around, taking in the table with the map and plans, the computer monitors, the weapons in the back. In turn, everyone stares at him—Barret with doubt; Jesse, Biggs and Wedge with distrust and hesitancy; Yuffie with curiosity. The stillness grows until Tifa can't take it anymore. Why did Cid choose this moment to shut up?

She clears her throat. "Everyone, this is Cloud." With a sweep of her hand, she gestures his way. Cloud's only greeting is to nod. Great, couldn't he make more of an effort?

"So," Yuffie says, voice too loud. She sits backward in her chair, a lollipop dangling from her fingers. "You're the human toaster?"

In the corner, Biggs hoots with laughter; Jesse smacks the back of his head.

"Yuffie…" Tifa warns.

"What? I had to tell them."

Agitation takes over Cloud, and Tifa notices by his feet shuffling. She takes a deep breath. "Then, you all know about me, too. Does it change anything?"

Her question hushes them. Finally, Jesse answers, "No."

"We know you, Tifa," Biggs adds.

Tifa shrugs off the silver of incertitude that floats in the atmosphere. "You'll get to know Cloud." She drops a hand on his arm, feeling how tense he is. Without thinking, she squeezes his arm, hoping to encourage him.

Barret knocks on the table to get everyone's attention. "Welcome," he says in his usual brusque tone. "I'm Barret."

When Cloud says nothing, Cid elbows him in the ribs.

"Nice to meet you," Cloud replies through clenched teeth.

"Oh, boy," Yuffie mutters, twisting in her seat to face her monitors.

Barret ignores her as he goes around introducing everyone. Tifa keeps her eyes on Cloud, assessing his responses, but he shows nothing other than detachment. Part of her knows he's dissociating himself from emotions for a good reason—he can't risk getting overwhelmed, especially since they don't have a lot of mako on hand. But the other part is simply worried; other than his panic attack the day of the incident, he's barely reacted to anything. With a sigh, she reminds herself to not care so much. It doesn't matter what happened before Aerith died—they have to focus on the present.

"Yuffie, get him a new ID," Barret calls out as he signals at Tifa and Cloud to go up the stairs.

"Yeah, yeah." Yuffie salutes as she continues to scroll her forum.

Once they're into the main bar area, Cloud looks at Tifa. His shoulders are hunched, his hands in his pockets.

"She can do that?" He asks, quiet.

"As long as it involves a computer, she can do pretty much everything."

"Speaking of IDs," Barret tells Tifa as he shuts the door to the back store, "avoid using services asking for yours. I don't want to risk it while we don't know what happened." He faces Cloud, arms crossed. "You need a place to stay?"

Cloud gives Tifa a sideway glance as if unsure of what his answer should be. "I thought I could stay with Cid."

"We can't have you run around when you're wanted. You should stay here."

"Okay." Cloud shrugs.

Barret goes behind the bar and takes a beer out for himself. "You want one?"

"No, thanks."

Tifa has to hide the beginning of a smile at Barret's attempts to be welcoming. It's always hard to tell how he really feels through his gruffness and straightforwardness.

"So tell me a little about you," Barret orders as he sits on a stool.

Cloud's eyebrows go up. "What do you need to know?"

Barret takes a swing of his drink, turning to Tifa. "You didn't mention his attitude. Well," he focuses back on Cloud, "I want to know who you are and anything that could apply to Avalanche. If you will be with us, we have to know you."

"I'm Cloud Strife. I'm good with a knife."

"Ever handled a gun?"

Cloud looks to the side. "It happened a few times when I lived on the streets, yeah."

"You got a job?"

"I worked at a delivery service." He thinks for a second. "Fought in the underground."

Barret grunts. "Right, you can't go back. We'll find you something to do here. What's your ability?"

Though he doesn't look her way, Tifa senses his incertitude. He's used to hiding every aspect of his identity as a Carrier, and she understands that.

"Fire manipulation," he ends up saying.

As Barret is about to ask another question, Tifa decides it's enough. She knows he wants to learn more about Cloud, and she gets he's trying to be nice in his own way, but it's only making Cloud uncomfortable.

"All right," she cuts him off. "I'll show you where you'll be staying. Let's go up."

No objections come from Barret; he gets up, grabs his beer, and goes into his office, throwing a "later" over his shoulder. Tifa unlocks the door leading to the apartments. She hears Cloud following. They walk inside her place, and he stops in the middle of the living room.

"Who lives up here?"

She guides him towards the back. "I do. Barret lives in the other apartment." She pushes the door to a room she uses for storage. "I'm the one with a spare room, so you'll be staying here."

The space is small and messy; there's only enough space for a fold-out sofa and two bookcases flanking it. Scattered books and papers and trinkets take up the shelves. Cloud glances around, and she notes his softer expression. Now that he's away from prying eyes and interrogations, his edginess decreases.

"Thanks," he says as he sits on the sofa.

"No problem." Getting the impression he needs quiet, she backs out. "I'll be around if you need anything."

"Thanks," he repeats, weaker this time, and she sees him lower his head in his hands as she closes the door behind her.

Give him time, she thinks. Let him heal.

But as she goes into her own room to change her clothes, she wonders if he'll ever be able to.

—


	13. Chapter thirteen

**A/N:** A few things:

1) I've mentioned before that the M rating is in part for depictions of violence. This comes into play this chapter going forward. I wouldn't say it's overly graphic, but I'm letting you all know in case some of you might be uncomfortable with that.

2) The text used in the video is an adapted translation of a Jacques Prévert quote (from the French movie _Drôle de drame_ ).

3) For those this might interest: the piece Tifa listens to on the radio at the very beginning is Rachmaninoff's Prelude op. 3 no. 2 (also known as "The Bells of Moscow"). Very dark and intense, and I was listening to it while writing so here's my little shout out to it. Might I also recommend Chopin's "Tragic" Polonaise, op. 44, as it also played in repeat during the writing process.

4) I forgot to answer a review in my last author's note, so here it is: Fantasies and Realities, we're more or less at the halfway point of the story (in terms of chapters).

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

—

13

—

"How is he adapting?"

Barret's question booms in the relative quiet of the meeting room. Faint music resonates from a radio in the corner—dramatic chords played with the lightest touch, though Tifa knows they will build up to a powerful crescendo. She finds the ominous atmosphere they create appropriate for tonight's mission.

"He's not," she answers while strapping on a shoulder holster.

Behind her, Barret is restless. His constant pacing and rustling shoots through her concentration, but she lets him be. He's only worried, and not without a reason.

"I don't like this," he grumbles. "I know I agreed, but I don't like it."

Tifa double-checks her gear—nothing fancy as they will need to blend in on the train. Still, the gun at her side and the knifes securely strapped inside her waistband and right boot are reassuring. Not to mention useful for what's coming.

Barret goes on. "If he turns on you—"

"He won't." Her reply is quick, affirmative.

"I wish I shared your trust in the brat. But if he does—"

She rolls her eyes. "Barret, please."

"—shoot him."

"I know what to do. Don't worry."

"I don't like this," he repeats.

Tifa turns around as she shrugs on her jacket and zips it up. "I can deal with Cloud."

"I know you can," he sighs. "You got everything?"

Grateful for the switch in topics, she nods and opens her small backpack, seeing it will help him relax. He catalogues the snacks, gloves, prepaid phone, spray paint, and other random items she threw in. Barret has never liked having her go on missions, but he's never been so vocal about it. That she's heading out with someone he doesn't trust must be what's bothering him.

"Do you need to go over the plan?"

Tifa throws him a pointed glare.

"If you feel like it," Barret amends.

Getting fed up, she shuts the backpack and shoulders it. "I don't, thanks."

"Sorry, kiddo. I'm nervous."

She understands where he's coming from. It's not only the circumstances of the mission that raise his stress level—it's also the events of a week ago. Her arrest and subsequent escape weigh on his mind.

"Hey." She punches his shoulder with little strength. "Remember why I'm the one going with him?"

The door leading down hisses, announcing someone's arrival.

"'Cause he needs a babysitter."

She can't help but chuckle. "Because you trust me. Let me take care of tonight."

Footsteps slow as they near, and soon Cloud stands on the second-to-last step. He glances at her with a wry twist to his mouth.

"You're dressed like you're ready to murder someone," he says in what she now thinks of as his true voice. It's the one he reserves for her and Cid—the one that has a speck of life to it.

She looks down at her outfit. All black, practical, warm, weapons concealed. Could be the combat boots and the utility jacket.

"Isn't that a good thing?" She retorts with humour.

Cloud hums, his favourite non-committal answer. Tifa takes a second to take him in. He looks like he's going to run an errand with his hoodie and jacket and jeans. Her only clue he's about to assassinate someone is the black of his clothes; less obvious if he gets blood on him.

"You have everything you need?" She asks, sceptical.

"I got my knife." He shrugs. "I don't need anything else."

In the corner, Barret mumbles his annoyance.

"Well, if you're sure, we should go. You got your new train pass?"

Cloud fishes it out of his pocket. She finds her own to makes sure she hasn't forgotten it. It's under a different ID, courtesy of Yuffie, and a precaution for tonight's mission. "Okay, we're ready. I'll send the photo to Yuffie when it's time," she tells Barret.

"Good luck," is all he says.

Tifa motions at Cloud to go up the stairs, and she follows with a parting wave to Barret. In silence, they head out through the emergency exit. They adopt a casual pace as they walk towards the train station. Cloud shoves his hands deep in his jacket's pockets, his eyes focused on what's in front of him. They pass a handful of people lingering on the sidewalks and in entryways, smoking and drinking, but the streets are mostly empty. It grows more crowded as they near the station, making it easier for them to blend in. When it's time to scan their new passes, Tifa's chest tightens. The light turns green, and they cross to the other side without a hitch.

"It's fucking cold," Cloud mumbles once they're on the platform. He brings his hood over his head, making sure it covers his ears. He shuffles his feet. Kind of adorable, Tifa thinks.

"Can't you warm yourself up?" She leans closer so her words are for him only. A group of teenagers stand on their right, too far to hear them, but she prefers to be careful.

"I haven't done that in a while." He matches her low tone.

"Well, no time like the present."

The look he sends her is dubious. "I'm not sure it's a good idea. What if—"

"What if, what if," Tifa interrupts. "You'll never get anywhere with it if that's all you think of."

His annoyance radiates off him as he hunches his shoulders and stares at the train rails. "Maybe."

Rolling her eyes is tempting, but she controls the urge. She's been pondering this, helping him get his ability under control. On one hand, she wants to help him so he doesn't have to rely on mako as much; on the other, she's afraid he'll set her apartment on fire.

"Just remember I can help you," she says, letting the subject drop.

Tifa finds the departures panel; the next train is in four minutes. Absentmindedly, she checks a news feed on her phone; no military warnings for the night. She puts the phone away.

"Coast seems clear."

Cloud nods, and she notices how tense he is. She realizes the surrounding air has warmed.

"Whoa." The exclamation escapes her, louder than she would have liked. The teenagers look their way, but dismiss them soon enough.

"That's amazing," she whispers as the train arrives. The temperature plummets, and she sees someone is coming close to them to board.

There are only six people in the wagon, including them. Tifa is about to sit down when the train speeds up, jostling her; she loses her balance, but Cloud's hand shoots up to stabilize her. He's still warm, she realizes as the heat he conjured seeps through the thick layers of her jacket and wool turtleneck. She mutters her thanks, dropping into the seat next to his. He withdraws his hand, and she misses it.

It's stupid—she thinks about him and her and what they shared the first time he showed up at 7th Heaven. It's stupid to expect things could have stayed the same. But she can't help it—going back to that night means she never got arrested, Aerith never died, he never got outed. In a way, she wishes she could stay stuck in the past, but, really, she wouldn't trade Avalanche's advancement for sentimentalism. If Cloud proves he's got what it takes to be part of Avalanche, then she can't regret what happened.

She still worries though; that's not something she can will away. Cloud acts detached around everyone these days, with the exception of Cid and her. Even then, saying he's open is a stretch. Most days have him hidden away organizing the back store—a job handed to him by Barret—or barricaded in his room. Whenever he speaks to her, it's casual, free of strong emotions; it's like talking to someone who you've met before but can't remember from where. She hates it, truly. It's not that they were close—she doesn't believe that—but there was something building between them, something she liked, something she wanted to see blossom, and witnessing its near collapse is disheartening.

There's no means to know how Cloud actually feels—not only about her and the what-could-have-been, but about everything. She suspects he won't even let himself feel. A surreptitious glance his way is unavoidable as her thoughts stray and multiply, but all she sees is the same unending focus on emptiness he's been exhibiting these days. She's closer than usual, though, and she picks out details she glossed over in the past. The dark circles, the dullness of his eyes, the taut lines around his mouth, the greasy sheen of his messier-than-typical hair, the bitten nails, the bloody cuticles.

The train speeds through Sector 5. By now, they're the sole passengers in the carriage. Tifa peeps at the map; their stop is near the border between Sector 4 and 5. They'll be getting off soon. And goddamn it, she wants to say something to him, something he'll hate, something he'll resent. The impulse stronger than her logic, and when the words tumble out, she regrets them.

"Let me help you." Cloud raises his head, startled by her voice. She watches the word register in his mind. This is about so many things, she thinks, and not only about his ability. She knows he understands her meaning when his jaw clenches.

"Please," she adds, softly—so softly she isn't sure she even spoke.

He leans forward, as if defeated, and runs a hand through his hair, pushing his hood back. It's an agitated gesture.

"Tifa—" He cuts himself off, inhaling sharply. Their stop is upcoming, and she knows he's thinking the same thing as her, that he can't wait to get off the train. When he speaks next, she guesses it's meant to be bitter and angry, but all she hears is dejection. "What can you do? Raise the dead back to life? Because I got a long list for you." Cloud gets to his feet seconds before the train slows to a halt. "You know you can't help, so don't make it worse."

Maybe she should be hurt, but she doesn't allow herself to be.

"Am I?"

Cloud gazes back at her. "What?"

She stands up. "Making it worse."

He hesitates, blinks, and steps outside. Tifa walks out a second later. The wind whistles in her ears as the train leaves the station. She studies Cloud, and he does the same to her. She's tempted to say they should forget what just happened. But she can't bring herself to because that small pause of his etched itself within her, and she can't dismiss it. Instead, she ends up speaking her mind.

"You're trying to hurt me." His eyes slid to the side, a silent admission. "One day it'll work, Cloud."

The unsaid floats in the air, and the implication of her words sinks into him. She knows it does because he grits his teeth together, and he gulps back whatever he was going to say.

She shakes her head and strides off towards the exit. "Come on. We have a job to do."

It takes him a moment to go after her, and when he does, he keeps a couple of steps behind her. That's how they spend their trek through the slums of Sector 4—distant and silent. Tifa has never liked this part of the city. Dark and filthy and industrial, it's filled with deserted buildings and seedy dens. They cross paths with people along the way; partygoers and gang members, factory workers and homeless wanderers. As they travel through the Sector, the streets clear until there is only the rare passerby.

According to Jesse, the private club Heidegger frequents is deep in a tangle of alleyways. Tifa didn't ask too many questions about The Mansion; she really doesn't want to know what goes on in there. She only wanted to know about the surveillance level; Jesse said they monitor the closest alleys through cameras, and only members can get in. If they take out the bodyguard and catch Heidegger far enough from The Mansion's entrance, things should go smoothly. At least, she hopes they do.

What disquiets Tifa the most about this area of Midgard is the darkness. She's so used to the artificial lights and the neon billboards that the simple flickering street lamps appear unusual. They find the bodyguard under a light, next to a sleek car. Cloud bends his neck backwards to see better from around the corner. Satisfied with what he sees, he faces Tifa.

"He fits Jesse's description," Cloud says, his first words since their exchange at the train station. "He's drinking."

Tifa leans against the building, posture casual. "What do you think we should do?"

It's not a test. She's genuinely curious to hear the answer.

He observes the surroundings. After a moment of reflection, he points to an alley they passed a minute ago. "Do you know if it connects to the bigger street?"

She nods.

"Okay. I distract him, you come up from behind, and I finish him."

Holding in a snort is hard, but she manages. "Lacking in details, but the idea is solid." She pushes off the wall. "All right. Give me two minutes."

Cloud turns his attention back to the guard, and she jogs towards and through the alley. It opens three meters to the right of the car, behind the guy; if she's quiet enough, he won't notice her coming. She counts twenty-three seconds, taking out her gloves and putting them on, before Cloud makes his entrance. His hood is back up again, casting shadows over his face, and he walks with a ridiculous swagger she wouldn't have expected of him. It's a reminder he's lived on the streets before; he knows how to trick people.

He approaches the bodyguard who just placed his empty beer bottle on the ground and lit up a joint. "Hey, man." The way he speaks makes her think of the night he got drunk. "Mind sharing?"

Tifa imagines the guy scowls as he exhales smoke and calls a pissed, "Fuck off."

"Unfair, man. You got enough to go around." Cloud stumbles over his own feet as he comes closer; the natural flow to his movements baffles Tifa a little.

"Again, fuck off."

"Aw, but my girlfriend and I really wanted to join in on the fun."

Tifa recognizes the statement for the signal it is. As silently as possible, she advances towards the man.

"Your girlfriend can—"

She picks up the beer bottle and slams it into his left temple. The guy groans and stumbles, but Cloud doesn't give him any time to recover. In a flash, he's in front of the guard, smashing his head repeatedly against the car until all there is left is a mess of blood and bone. Tifa's guts twist a little at the sight. Cloud lets go of the man, and his body slides to the ground at a broken angle, his head next to Cloud's feet.

"You sure he's dead?" She asks as Cloud makes to walk away.

When he suddenly brings down the heel of his boot on the man's neck, once, twice, Tifa almost jumps back from the force of the movement and the sickening noise it makes. After, he nudges the guard's body with his foot.

"Now he's dead," he answers, voice flat.

There's a tendril of uneasiness swirling within Tifa. She knew Cloud got into trouble and could handle it; she knew he fought people as a mean of income—but she hadn't anticipated the way he became alive through violence. It could be a fluke, she thinks, it could be her imagination.

With a sigh, she sends away her thoughts. They enter the alleys on the other side of the street, keeping an eye out for cameras. Jesse's crude map aids them; it's not hard to navigate, but nothing indicates where the entrance to The Mansion is, making it easy to go around in circles. They come to a halt at a corner marked by Jesse, and Tifa spies a camera screwed high into the brick wall. She turns to Cloud.

"Camera's at the end. We'll need to wait further back."

He nods, looking bored again. They find an unoccupied three storeys building that's been ransacked; it affords them a good view on the path Heidegger will have to take to head back. Tifa stays near a window on the third floor, monitoring the alley. Cloud sits on the ground, elbows on his knees, his knife held loosely in front of him.

"How long?"

"He should leave in an hour at most." Tifa keeps from reminding him he's been told him before; Jesse mentioned Heidegger exits between 1:30 and 2:00.

He hums, and for the first time the evasive sound grates on her nerves. Her motions jerky, she retrieves gloves out of her backpack and throws them on his lap.

"Don't forget these."

He doesn't react for a moment, staring at her with hesitation, then slides them on. His eyes stay on her. Tifa knows she's pissed off, and the swell of her emotions annoys her; she likes to keep a cool head during a mission. But Cloud's attitude distracts her. Perhaps Barret was right about him needing a babysitter. She doesn't like her train of thoughts and the bitterness it brings.

"You okay?" Cloud says it carefully, like he senses her feelings.

The right answer eludes her, and she takes too long to reply.

"I didn't mean to anger you," he adds.

She feels the need to clarify. "I'm irritated, not angry." Mostly, she's worried, but she keeps it to herself.

From the corner of her eyes, she sees him grow unnerved; he plays with his knife, runs a hand through his hair, glances down.

"Don't be mad at me. I'm just—" He stops, then exhales loudly. "Please."

Tifa focuses back on the alley. "You can't ask me that if you're not willing to do things differently." Tiredness comes over her. "When I offer my help, it's genuine. If you don't want it, that's your choice, but trying to hurt me is uncalled for."

"I know," he acknowledges quietly. "But Tifa, you _can't_ help. And…" He trails off.

Though she's aware she shouldn't, she tears her eyes away from the window.

"We both know how this ends." He looks at the floor. "I'm not staying around forever." He doesn't say he also won't come back, but she gets the message. This isn't new information; he told her at Cid's garage. It still makes her anxious to hear it. He's afraid to hurt her, she realizes as she turns to the window again. His coldness, his hurtful comments—they're all so she doesn't get attached. Without intending to, she lets out a short, harsh laugh.

"Tifa?"

She laughs again. "I don't know why I care, but I do. Joke's on me I guess."

Cloud stands up swiftly. "Tifa—"

A tall figure moves at the end of the alley, a good distance away, though the frame is undoubtedly Heidegger. Tifa stiffens. "He's early." Ignoring what he was going to say, she signals at him to move. "We do like with the bodyguard; I'll come up from behind. And keep his face as intact as possible," she calls as she goes down the stairs and towards the only door leading out. She stays inside, waiting for Heidegger to pass her by. Cloud doesn't look at her as he exits the building. He disappears from her vision, having turned a corner. The spot they chose for the ambush is right around.

It takes a minute for Heidegger to walk past the edifice Tifa's hiding in. She unzips her jacket, giving her access to her weapon, and waits until he's bent the corner before following. She keeps a good distance behind him. He stops when he spots Cloud standing at the mouth of the alley. Heidegger immediately senses something is wrong and twists around, only to see Tifa. Not appearing too alarmed, he puts his hands in his coat's pockets, and chuckles.

"What can I help you with?" His coarse voice drips with arrogance.

He turns halfway to keep an eye on Cloud, and Tifa jumps into action. When Heidegger reached into his pocket, she knew he must have been going for his phone. Making use of her speed, she darts across the space dividing them and kicks the back of his left knee in a powerful strike, driving it into the ground. Heidegger cries out and tumbles forward; his cellphone flies from his hand as they come out to avert his fall. Panting, he attempts to straighten up, but stops mid movement when Tifa presses the gun against his head. She chances a look at the phone—the screen is still dark—and catches Cloud about to stomp on it.

"Stop!" She shouts, making sure to keep the gun level.

He freezes and raises his eyes to hers in a silent question.

"They probably track his location through the phone for security." Tifa releases the safety when Heidegger makes a sudden move, and the sound has him stay put. The injury she inflicted limits his movements, but she'd rather he didn't even try. "Destroying it would alert them."

Heidegger lets out a strange noise, like a mix between wheezing and choking, and she figures he's struggling to laugh through the pain. "She's smart. I'm guessing you got rid of my driver."

"We might have," she says as she comes around to face him and stand beside Cloud.

"You're with the terrorist group." Heidegger states the words through his strained breathing. Tifa says nothing, the answer being too obvious.

Cloud abruptly extends his hand towards Tifa, gesturing at the gun. A little reluctant, she hands it to him.

Heidegger goes on. "We've been tracking you down. If you think you'll last long—"

In a rapid motion, Cloud engages the gun's safety and smacks the weapon into Heidegger's mouth; his head snaps back from the blow, and he slumps ahead, unable to hold himself up. Blood flows from cuts on his cheeks and lips, and Tifa has a doubt the hit fractured his cheekbone. He coughs and spits out bits of broken teeth, soiling his suit as blood trickles down his chin.

Cloud gives her back the gun. "Useful." His knife is in his other hand.

"I told you to leave his face intact," she mutters, pointing the weapon at Heidegger again.

Groaning, Heidegger does his best to raise his body up, bending over his good knee for support. But Cloud is faster; a stomp kick to Heidegger's knee has him howl and collapse.

Tifa watches Cloud—it's the small details she takes note of. Things like the upward curl to his lips, almost a sneer, or the animated glint in his eyes. She understands what's happening; Heidegger represents Shinra, and Shinra took everything from him. Inflicting pain on the man is only a means to channel his need for revenge. And Tifa can't judge him for it. She had planned on this exact situation playing out in order to benefit Avalanche. Still, seeing him this way only exponentiates her concerns.

Heidegger drags his damaged body away until he reaches the brick wall nearest to him. He falls against it; the pain muddles his gaze, and every time he opens his mouth to breathe, blood pours out. His shuddering intensifies when Cloud walks over to him. There is no big declaration, no begging as Cloud grabs Heidegger's head, twists it away from himself, and slits his throat. The blood streams and gushes out, spraying the asphalt. Tifa is unmoving for a few seconds, then she takes out the burner phone and spray paint she brought with her. Her heart drums a crazed beat in her ears.

"Place him so we can see his face," she hears herself instruct Cloud.

He listens, doing his best not to get too much blood on his clothes. Once Heidegger's body is positioned as best as Cloud can, she steps up and paints a giant AVALANCHE behind over and the body. For good measure, she adds a small depiction of the logo Wedge created—the stylized A continuing in a V—so people can connect the two latest incidents.

The lighting is terrible, and it makes taking a photo harder than it should be. In the end. Tifa decides on snapping the best angle she can find and let Yuffie play with the luminosity. Cloud and her need to go back before they're found out.

"We're leaving," she tells Cloud, who is wiping his knife on Heidegger's pants.

Within a minute, they're outside the alleys and striding down the street in the direction of the train station. Cloud is silent, but she senses the energy coming off him. She doesn't care to think about that right now, and instead she busies herself sending Yuffie the photo she took. Thirty seconds later, she gets a cryptic confirmation text on her everyday phone. She tugs on Cloud's sleeves, pulling him to the side; they've stopped close to neglected bar with a moderate crowd.

"I have to finish something," she says while in the process of wiping the data off the prepaid phone.

"About earlier…," Cloud mumbles as he observes the area, avoiding looking at her.

"Forget it." Tifa concentrates on the task at hand. She breaks the phone at the articulation, then smashes each part under her boot. The remains gathered, they resume their walk. As they pass by the bar's garbage containers, Tifa throws what's left of the phone in it. Dumpsters aren't necessarily her prime choice for getting rid of evidence, as the military tend to search through them during investigations, but she takes the chance since the Sector 4 garbage collection begins early tomorrow morning. Well, she amends, more like this morning since two o'clock draws close.

Cloud keeps to himself all the way back to the station, and when they sit on the train, he picks a different bench from hers. It's not a big deal to her, and she doesn't think he intends to hurt her this time; she thinks he's unsure of how to act.

It's warm on the train; they both removed their gloves before boarding. Tifa wishes she could unzip her jacket, but she's still got the holster on her and there's a group of two guys close to her age whispering across from them. They seize her attention through their wide eyes and repetitive hushed "fucking hell" as they check their phones. One of them notices her and waves his phone around.

"Check what's trending," he says as an explanation.

Nodding, Tifa takes hers out of her pocket, pretending to be curious as she scrolls through a news feed. She finds a re-posted video with a constant increase in views, captioned 'Who is Avalanche ? ? ?'

When she clicks on the link, she already knows what she will see because it was hers and Barret's idea. Despite that, anticipation courses through her at the sight of the white text on a black screen, like she's never watched this specific video before. The concept is simple—Barret's doing. He's always said good ideas don't need embellishment, that they should be impactful enough on their own.

The text appears one letter at a time as if typed: _We are the sheep… Butchers kill the sheep._ The dot blinks, allowing the pause to grow before the letters cascade anew. _So we kill the butchers_. Tifa holds in a gasp as the photo she took earlier shows up. It's not that she didn't expect it, it's that Yuffie reworked it and Heidegger is now clearly identifiable. So are the bruises on his face, the blood staining his clothes, and the deep gash on his neck. The AVALANCHE she drew jumps across the screen. The video ends with Wedge's logo, cutting off abruptly.

Without a word, she gives the phone to Cloud, who had been staring at her. She monitors his reaction as he watches the short clip. The only give is the slight widening of his eyes at the end. Across them, the guy who told her to check the news keeps re-watching while his friend mutters, "Holy shit, Quinn, someone's attacking _Shinra._ Fucking _Heidegger_ , bro. Holy shit."

If she wasn't so goddamn tired, Tifa believes she'd feel pride at the impact they caused. But right now, she wants to sleep and nothing else. Not only was the mission draining, but so were her conversations with Cloud, and she's far from being in the mood to rifle through her confused thoughts. But it hits her unexpectedly as Cloud returns her phone—they took down the Head of Public Safety. The one who ordered the increase in raids, the one who made laws about who deserves to live, the one who participated in making Midgard a nightmare.

The train stops at their station and they get out. Tifa is in a strange state as they head back to 7th Heaven, like she's sleepwalking while feeling happy. But it goes away when they enter the bar through the main doors; the main area holds about six people, half of them being Avalanche members, and she had hoped it would have been empty. Barret acts normal when he spots them, waving at her and glaring at Cloud. Biggs cleans up the place with a spring to his step. Yuffie eats a huge plate of fries all by herself, slapping Barret's hand away when he tries to steal some.

"Hey," Tifa says, rubbing her eyes.

"Had a good night, kiddo?"

Codeword for: how did it go?

"It was all right. I'm going to sleep."

Barret discerns the exhaustion creeping in her voice, but he doesn't comment on it. "See you tomorrow, then."

Tifa decides to head upstairs without saying good night to anyone else. Once she's in her apartment, she jumps at the sight of Cloud in the kitchen. For a moment, she'd forgotten he lives with her. He stays silent as she crosses the room and slams her door shut. Maybe she's being unfair. Maybe she ought to be reasonable and respect his death wish. But, really, she doesn't care right now. She will worry about all that tomorrow. She doesn't even change, only removes her holster and knives and boots before falling face down on her bed. Her last stray thought is that someone might have knocked on her door just now, but it disappears as she falls asleep.

—


	14. Chapter fourteen

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—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

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14

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Cloud learns soon enough he doesn't know what to do with free time. It becomes obvious as the days drag into one week and then two. He finished organizing the bar's back store, and Barret promised to find him more work, but that was a week ago. He's found stuff to do in the meantime, sure, but staying cooped up inside the apartment is driving him nuts.

On a gloomy afternoon, a boredom so intense has him snoop around. He feels guilty going through Tifa's belongings, and he wouldn't otherwise think of entering her room, but goddamn it, he's _so_ bored. She's got more books in there, he knows she does, and he's read all the ones lying around already. If only she wasn't avoiding him, he could ask her. But these days Tifa is always busy, always moving. Every time he approaches her, it's we'll-talk-later only to end in I'm-tired-we'll-talk-tomorrow. He can't blame her—he's the one who pushed her away. Wasn't that what he wanted? He can't say anymore. It was an easy decision to make while he basked in rage and revenge, but as time goes by, his resolve to isolate himself wavers, some days more than others.

Like today. Today, he'd like to be with someone. It's not even that he wants to talk—he's just not used to being alone. For the first time in eleven years, he's alone. He thinks about the _before_ sometimes (often). About when he was thirteen and Aerith pulled him into the alley and Zack brought him into his home; the trouble Zack and him would get into; the way they would stalk the streets at night and go after patrolling guards for petty revenge. The memories snowball at some point. They transform into something darker and painful and bitter. Aerith, Zack and him coming back home to find everything ablaze; his grip on Zack faltering as he ran inside the house; Aerith screaming as the structure crumbled; the two of them running away as Shinra officers showed up. It was always said the cause of the fire was accidental, but everyone in the neighborhood knew Shinra had been behind it.

Cloud remembers today; he remembers not enough and too much. He wishes he could focus on the happy times, but what occupies his mind the most is the black sky of memories; the storm builds inside him each time he reminisces. He blames it on the boredom. After all, if he was busy, his thoughts wouldn't stray so much. That's why he wanders around Tifa's apartment that afternoon, looking for anything eye-catching.

He can't say there's much of interest in the rooms he's explored. It's when he passes her door that he hesitates. He really should respect her privacy. Then again, all he wants is a book. Or two, but that's a detail. With a deep breath, he walks inside.

If he had expected something, anything, it wasn't this. The room is a mess. It's not spacious, though bigger than the near closet he's staying in. Still, Tifa somehow crammed an inordinate amount of _things_ in there. From the books and magazines stacked on the bookcase and floor, to the huge disordered dresser with a mirror, to the clothes piled in a corner and overflowing from the wardrobe, to the shoes lying around—there's barely an inch of floor to be seen. Cloud gets a headache from staring at it all. He advances, unsure of where to step. He almost feels like laughing as he trips on a pair of boots, regaining his balance at the last second.

He reaches the bookcase, finally. Forget about snooping around—that would be pushing it, true, but he'd also need days to go through all this, and he doesn't have the courage. But after he scans her unorganized bookshelves, finding not two, but three books that seem interesting, he can't resist straightening a pile of magazines that's about to topple. That's how it starts. With as much subtlety as he can muster, Cloud cleans here and there. He doesn't want to move things around; that would give him away. She won't notice if he ordered the books or pushed the boots out of the way, won't she?

As Cloud is putting back together a tower of shirts that were folded but collapsed, someone knocks loudly enough to make him jump. He drops the books he'd shoved under his arms, cursing. Who the fuck knocks like they're about to take down the door?

"Tifa, you in there?" Barret yells.

Right. Resigning himself to an unpleasant conversation, Cloud goes to open the door. On the other side, Barret frowns.

"She's not here."

"Yeah, I got that." Barret pushes his way inside. Cloud has to step back not to be barreled into. Great start, he thinks.

"Did you need anything?" Cloud asks with as much calm as he can.

The question seems to annoy Barret, whose frown deepens into an outright glare. Cloud doesn't get it. He never thought Barret and him got along, but the man attempted to include him in the beginning. Sure, it came across as an interrogation, but in retrospect, Cloud figures it was him being welcoming. Now, Barret acts sour at the sight of Cloud.

"I need to talk to you," says Barret, and it makes Cloud anxious, as if he's being scolded.

"Okay?"

Play it casual, he tells himself. Cloud crosses his arms and leans against the wall. Barret stays standing in the middle of the living room.

"You did a good job with Heidegger. I never told you."

Cloud refrains from falling aside from shock. He clears his throat. "Thanks."

"But one thing." Ah, there it is. It was too good to be true. "Keep your personal business out of Avalanche jobs."

"What do you mean?"

Barret's glare lessens a fraction. "Tifa told me how the mission went."

At this, Cloud stiffens and stays silent. He knew Tifa was a big part of Avalanche, but he wouldn't have guessed her to report _everything_.

His lack of answer spurs Barret on. "She told me how it went so well and you were so efficient. She told me there was no hitch."

Cloud swallows his surprise.

"She was lying." Barret rolls his eyes. "I know Tifa; she wouldn't lie about the actual job. But she made it sound too perfect to be true. Something happened, and if she won't tell me, it's because it's personal."

It takes Cloud a minute to find his words. He figures his pause is admission of guilt enough, but he feels the strange compulsion to defend both him and Tifa.

"Nothing interfered with the mission," he says.

Barret sighs. He rubs his hand over his ear. "I'll be honest with you, Cloud. I wouldn't care if it was anyone else. Tifa's business is her own. But I know why you're here. I know why you joined Avalanche." His stare hardens again. "I worked most of life on this; I won't let you screw it up."

The unsaid is loud enough for Cloud to catch on it. All that Barret said is fair, but it angers Cloud nonetheless.

"I'm not out to hurt anyone," he grinds out through clenched teeth.

"I don't think you are. But I do think you will." Barret grunts. "We all know you're using us, Tifa most of all. And I won't let a brat like you tear us down because you have different priorities."

The word ignites Cloud, and he senses the fire within him rousing.

"Yeah, all right, I have different _priorities_ ," he spits out the word; avenging his family isn't a priority, it's a need. He's got nothing else. Cloud pushes away from the wall. "You know what, Barret? Where are you really going with this fight? What's the point of all this if people like Sephiroth and Rufus Shinra are still standing when you've burned everything down?"

"Fuck, you are a brat." Barret chuckles; the sound kindles Cloud's vexation. "You think the world we live in will crumble that easily? We're not fighting _Rufus_ Shinra, we're fighting Shinra Corp; he happens to be at the top. You kill him, another's gonna take his place. You kill Captain Sephiroth, someone's only getting promoted. It's a fucking system, Cloud. You can storm Shinra Tower to kill the big players; you'll die and nothing will change. What's the point in that?"

Cloud has no good answer for him. There is a point—but it's personal and nothing Barret wants to hear. He keeps his silence. His anger is only growing, and he can't afford to lose control. When he realizes he won't get anything more out of Cloud, Barret scoffs and heads for the exit.

"Do me a favor, Cloud. Leave before you make it worse." He slams the door behind him.

Cloud is left alone in the neon lights flashing through the window. Beneath his skin, his blood boils. He can't pinpoint the exact cause, and he doesn't want to admit it might be the truths Barret spilled. Being confronted with the unpleasantness of reality isn't his cup of tea.

He paces. He wishes he could go out to fight, but those days are over now that Reno outed him, and he'll need to find another way to free his emotions. There's no way he can rely on mako anymore. Unless he found another dealer. Risky for sure, but it could be worth it. Reno was a fluke, but—

Cloud stops in his tracks. What if Reno wasn't a fluke? His head spins as possibilities turn up. Dates and events swarm him, and he can't make sense of it all. He needs someone else to help him sort his thoughts.

It's late afternoon, and the bar holds the occasional patron, but no one Cloud wants to see. He spots Biggs coming out of the back store. Not that Cloud wants to see him, but he might answer some questions.

"Hey." Cloud walks to the counter and rests against it. "You busy?"

Biggs makes a show of acting surprised by Cloud talking to him. The exaggerated expression irritates Cloud, but he hides it.

"Kind of," says Biggs, gesturing at the spotless bar area with two customers.

"You know where Tifa went?"

Biggs shrugs. "Out with Jesse earlier, shopping or something. They should be back around six."

Cloud blinks. As the state of her room told him, Tifa really doesn't need more clothes. He abstains from commenting on the matter.

"All right. Thanks, man." Cloud knocks on the counter as a farewell, striding off for the back store.

If Tifa isn't here for another two hours, he needs to find someone else. Cid would be the obvious choice, but he's at the garage today. That leaves Yuffie. He swears as he inputs the code they gave him for the meeting room. The door slides open and he goes down the stairs.

As expected, Yuffie is sitting at her computers, clicking and typing away at the speed of light. Huge headphones swamp her head, which bops to a beat he can't hear.

"Yuffie," Cloud says in a voice he believes is loud enough, but clearly isn't when she doesn't react. He taps on her shoulder.

She waves over her shoulder. "A minute!"

He waits, taking the time to wander the room. He hasn't come down here a lot; they haven't given him much reason to. He's aware they don't include him on everything yet, and he can respect that considering the circumstances. Cloud spots a map of Midgard pinned to a board; nothing's written on it, but there are handwritten notes tacked next to it. They're an incomprehensible mess, ideas seemingly scribbled at random and connected to each other through arrows; the only word that stands out is a circled REACTORS in the left bottom corner. He's about to check out the note pinned under it when Yuffie speaks.

"You need something?"

Cloud drops the paper and turns to her. "I thought you could help me."

Yuffie pauses, her bottle of soda to her lips, and then laughs, miraculously avoiding a spill. " _You_ want my help?"

All right, maybe he hasn't been very friendly since coming here. Cloud drags the closest chair next to hers, plopping down on it.

"Whoa," Yuffie says. "He's serious about this." She puts down the soda. "What's up?"

Cloud isn't sure where to start off. His mind is still jumbled up and putting everything in order is impossible at the moment.

He begins with, "What do you know about mako?"

The stare Yuffie sends him is straight up disgruntlement. "Don't tell me you need help to find a dealer?"

"Not exactly," Cloud replies. "I need to find my old dealer."

Still appearing bored, Yuffie swivels around to face the monitors. "Name?"

"Any combination with Reno and James in it."

She opens some program and inputs the information; the screen indicates calculations are taking place. Yuffie falls back into her seat.

"You're in need of mako? Not sure it's a good idea to go back to that guy."

"That's not why," Cloud says absentmindedly as he watches the program buffer, anxious. "What it is doing?" He points at the computer.

"Running through the public database. Everyone with an ID is registered in it." Yuffie swings the chair side to side. "What does he look like?"

"Red hair, green eyes, white."

She hums. "The red hair will make it easier."

A minute later, Cloud understands why. The program finishes running, displaying all the results as a series of ID cards with the person's photo attached. Yuffie scrolls too fast for him to be able to recognize faces; she stops twice on guys with red hair though none are Reno. As she nears the end of the list, Cloud's anxiety expands.

"This one?" Yuffie clicks on a card. Reno's picture fills the screen.

Cloud nods, finding himself unable to speak. He hasn't seen Reno since that day in the church, and it hits him. Though he'd never wanted to admit it, _James_ was his friend. James with his ridiculous tropical shirts and outdated sneakers and stupid sunglasses—it was an illusion, Cloud knows that now. But the betrayal isn't lessened; he can't forget the last five years so quickly.

Of course, the rage is steady in its rise as Cloud stares the photo down. This is the man who threw his life upside down. Sephiroth might have killed Aerith, but Reno is the reason she was in the prisoner transport.

The name next to his picture reads JAMES EVERETT. Cloud skims over the personal details like age and date of birth; he doesn't care about any of that. He's looking for any clue connecting him to Shinra. But there's nothing, nothing at all. James Everett is almost a model citizen, with one arrest for drug possession as a teenager.

"Found what you were looking for?" Yuffie's voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

"The start of it," Cloud mumbles. He scoots closer to the desk. "This guy? He works for Shinra as some sort of agent. Tifa said he might be a Turk or whatever." Yuffie's eyes widen. "I think his real name is Reno James. He posed as a drug dealer for years."

"A Turk? What the fuck," she whispers. "Dude, you are so screwed."

Cloud side-eyes her. "Yeah, I kinda got that part."

"These people are, like, invisible. No true records. They're spies or anything else Shinra might need."

Annoyance spikes. "Can we get back on topic?" He carries on before she opens her mouth. "I need to know when mako appeared in Midgard."

Though Yuffie is obviously displeased by his curtness, she complies, opening up a standard search engine. The results are few, and Cloud isn't surprised. Mako isn't that known to non-Carriers; Shinra does its best to keep the coverage under wraps.

"Let's see," Yuffie says as she clicks on a few links. "The earliest mention is about eight years ago, meaning it probably showed up a year or so before."

Cloud files the information aside. Something Cid told him flashes through his mind. Rufus Shinra ordered experiments to be conducted on Carriers; who's to say he stopped at weaponizing them?

"Can you search Rufus Shinra's rise to President?"

"That's easy." Yuffie rolls her eyes. "That was eleven years ago."

Cloud leans back into the chair and crosses his arms. "So—mako appeared after he took over?"

He sees the realization dawn on Yuffie's face. "You think Shinra manufactures mako? Why the hell would they do that?"

"Think about it. If mako is distributed through Shinra employees, they can identify us without trouble."

"And they can arrest you whenever they want," Yuffie says, quiet. "Like what they did to you."

Cloud looks down. "Yeah, like they did to me."

"How sure are we about this?"

"Enough." Cloud gets to his feet in a sudden move. "Thanks, Yuffie. Can you keep this quiet for now?"

Though she grimaces at the idea, she says, "I guess. But I should let Barret and Tifa know."

"I'll tell Tifa tonight."

Yuffie drums her fingers on her desk, lips pursed. "I'll know if you don't."

Cloud can't help but chuckle, short and quiet. The sound surprises him more than it does Yuffie.

"You know…" Yuffie hesitates. "You have the right mind for this."

Her statement has him glance away. "I don't think so." He assumes she'll let the subject go and heads for the door.

"You should consider the big picture," she adds.

Cloud stops at the bottom of the stairs, and he twists his head to answer her, but she's back in her digital world, headphones on. Her words cling to him as he goes through the back store, then the bar. Biggs tries to catch his attention, but Cloud dismisses him.

What _is_ the big picture here, anyway? He's never taken the time to consider it; his lifestyle had him go day to day. The only time he ever imagined life beyond tomorrow was when he lived with Aerith and the Fairs. It seemed easy to do so, then.

He craves revenge, that hasn't changed, but he's beginning to wonder if simply killing Sephiroth is enough. Barret sowed doubts inside him. But then he remembers—remembers all the times he goes to say something to Aerith only to become painfully aware she isn't here anymore. Every night, her death plays like a movie in the theater of his mind; the way Sephiroth grabbed the gun, the way her body recoiled from the impact and the way it thumped to the ground. Mostly, Cloud replays the part where the Captain walked away unruffled, like he'd only swatted an insect crawling up his neck; the part where no one cared. After all, isn't the city safer now that one more dangerous Carrier is gone? No, the big picture is nothing but a daydream, and he's done with fantasies.

The door to the apartment falls behind him. Cloud doesn't notice Tifa's jacket thrown over the couch. He strolls into his designated room, taken aback at the sight of a huge paper bag on the sofa bed. Wary, he peeks inside—it's full of men's clothes. At first glance, he spots flannel button-downs, sweatpants and cotton shirts, but there are more unseen items. Cloud blinks as his brain processes what it means. Tifa was out shopping, wasn't she?

Rapid footsteps echo in the apartment, followed by a hissed, "Cloud!"

He startles at the sound, and whirls around to spot a peeved Tifa standing arms crossed in the doorway.

"Hi," he says, and points at the bag of clothes. "I'm not sure I get it."

But Tifa acts like he didn't speak. "You went through my room?"

Ah. That.

"Uh, I might have." He clears his throat as shame creeps up on him.

Tifa throws her hands in the air but says nothing else.

"I just wanted a book!" He attempts to justify himself. Clearly, it falls flat as she pivots on her heels and leaves. "Tifa!" He follows, stopping short of entering her bedroom.

"There's your book," she snaps, shoving the three books he'd dropped in his chest. His reflexes allow him to catch them before they fall.

"Look, I'm sorry," Cloud begins, hoping she will listen, but she strides past him and into the kitchen. He curses and goes to put down the books on his bed. Damn it, he never should have gone in there. With a deep breath, he goes to join her.

Tifa's movements are stiff as she takes out items to make dinner, and Cloud isn't sure what to do. He doubts this is solely about him snooping. Sure, it didn't _help_ , but he senses her anger goes back to two weeks ago when they dealt with Heidegger. And he can't blame her, he really can't.

"Tifa, hear me out. Please," he adds. He sees her shoulders drop. She turns around and leans back on the counter behind her.

Again, he's not certain how to decipher the web of his thoughts. He goes with, "This isn't just about me going in your room."

Tifa flinches, and he bites his tongue. Wrong thing to say. When she speaks, her voice is sharp, bitter. "You're right. You're right, this is about me feeling like a fucking idiot. Why did you start cleaning my room?"

The right answer eludes him. He settles on the most honest one. "I wanted to help."

She drags a hand over her face. "I don't know what to think anymore." A hitch in her breath gives away her agitation. "Are you still planning on leaving?"

His mouth opens on its own accord to say that, yes, he is. But something holds the words back, and he ends up swallowing them. Minutes ago, he decided on pursuing his goal; now, he hesitates. He takes too long for Tifa's taste, and she makes the choice for him.

"You want to push me away, go ahead, but don't turn around and do things like clean my room! I _don't_ want to care more than I already do, so just… don't," she finishes, defeated.

Cloud finds his temper soar, and he doesn't understand why at first. It crests and crashes, and he realizes he's angry at himself. The need to expel his emotions grows stronger with the passing seconds, and he's afraid he'll explode.

"I don't want to push you away," he confesses. His hushed voice is buried beneath the clatter of the bar preparing for the evening. Still, Tifa hears him.

"I don't want to," he presses on before she can reply, "but I do it because I don't want to be unfair to you. But then I hurt you either way, and now I have no clue what I should do." He exhales.

Tifa absorbs all he said; she grips the counter behind her. "Stay," she whispers. "Don't make me watch you throw your life away. Cloud—" She pauses but doesn't give up. "I am so _worried_ for you. I try to put myself in your place to understand you better, to help you. And I think I get it. The rage, wanting revenge; I get it. But Aerith died to _save_ you. I can't think of a better way to honor that than to carry on."

More than Barret's speech, more than Yuffie's compliment, it's Tifa's whispered admission that surrounds him and pierces his skin, infiltrating his being and corrupting his resolve. Cloud hides his hands in his pants' pockets—their shaking is too obvious.

Tifa saves him the trouble of speaking. "Think about staying, please. That's all I ask."

She waits, expectant. If he answers her honestly, he'll promise to stay, and he can't commit to that, he can't. If he chose to leave in the end—

Cloud panics.

"I need to go to the bathroom," he blurts out, walking away and locking himself into said bathroom.

Goddamn it, he thinks, he's _such_ a fucking dumbass. She'll hate him for that, he's almost sure of it. Mad at his own reaction, Cloud splashes cold water on his face, hoping it'll help him calm down. As he raises his head, he faces his reflection properly for the first time in weeks.

He's lost weight, is his first observation. His dark circles jump out, and the hard twist of his mouth makes him appear hostile even to himself. His hair hangs limp and greasy, somehow messier than it usually is. The set of his shoulders is tense, and he makes the conscious effort to loosen his muscles; he notes the pain the motion brings, an indication he stands taut all the time.

All right, he needs a shower. Cloud tiptoes to his room to grab clean clothes and a towel, and heads back into the bathroom without being intercepted. He does his best to clear his mind as the water flows over him. It's hard, though, and Tifa's mention of Aerith is resilient. Cloud knows she's telling the truth. It's what hit him the most—that he wasn't able to see it by himself. Of course Aerith's last and only wish would be for him to persevere despite everything. He sighs as he steps out of the bathtub and dries his body. The call for revenge was—still is—so powerful that it blinded him.

Tifa has her back to him when he emerges, clean and clothed, a towel lying on his head. Cloud stops rubbing it through his hair a moment. Don't promise anything, he reminds himself.

"I can't assure you I'll stay," he says, loud enough to surprise her. Tifa spins to look at him. "But I will think about it."

The air stills. Cloud feels like it froze all around him, until she nods, and her posture relaxes. "All right."

Uncertain if he should stay, Cloud stands where he is. Finally, he chooses to ask, "Do you need help with the food?"

They've taken turns cooking so far, or they prepare their own meal depending on Tifa's schedule. Tonight, she doesn't work; it's an opportunity to talk. His suspicions regarding mako come back to him all of a sudden.

"Sure," Tifa replies, gesturing to an assortment of vegetables on the counter to her right.

As he gets to work chopping ginger, Cloud tells her what he found with Yuffie. Tifa frowns from the start, and the more he explains, the more her expression darkens.

"It would make sense," she says over the hiss of food cooking in the pan. "The drug's pretty advanced when I think about it. Shinra would have the means to fund the research for it."

Done with his tasks, Cloud rests against the counter. "I've never bought mako from gang members, it's always been independent sellers. I guess they can't all be working for Shinra, but it could be most of them."

She nods. "Yeah, if you're right, it has to be the majority. Fuck." Tifa laughs. "Add it to the list of things to worry about."

Cloud hums. "I can't risk getting more."

"How much do you have left?"

He does the mental math. "About three doses. Maybe four."

"We need to work on your control," Tifa says, casual. She serves the stir-fry, and they sit at the table. It's the first time they eat together like this. The radio plays in the background, the volume low.

"We?" Cloud repeats, soft.

"Don't you want to?" She glances at her plate.

He nods. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Good." Her smile is distorted through her glass as she brings it to her lips. "I'm always afraid you'll burn the place down. By accident," she goes on quickly.

Cloud senses a smirk forming, but the radio catches his attention, and the humor dies down.

"— _you guys, don't you want to know more about them_?"

"Cloud?" Tifa tilts her head to the side, curious at his change of attitude. He motions at the radio, and she straightens up.

" _These people, they're bringing us a revolution. Mark my words. Whoever this Avalanche is, they've got my support_."

Another voice joins the first. " _Dude, shut the fuck up, we're_ live _._ "

" _Yeah? Then I say fuck Shinra Corp. Good riddance to that dick Heidegger and I can only hope they get Ruf—_ "

An upbeat pop song cuts the guy off, and the transition leaves a sour taste in Cloud's mouth.

"That guy's dead," he mutters.

Tifa mindlessly plays with her food, pushing it around in her plate. "That wasn't very smart of him. But…"

He gives her an inquisitive look. "But?"

She drops her fork, and it clatters against the plate. "What we did, it reached people." Her eyes twinkle with excitement. "It's working."

Cloud can't disagree. And, strangely, an ember within him flares up for a single second. Tifa and him did this. Their actions brought some (admittedly unwise) guy to speak his mind concerning Shinra. In all the years he's lived in Midgard, he's never heard anyone do that on such a public platform.

Tifa watches for his reaction. Her enthusiasm drifts into him, and he can't help but give her a small smile.

Later, in that fragile time between night and morning, after he wakes up from a nightmare, Cloud scrolls the net as a distraction. A headline reads FAMOUS RADIO HOST OVERDOSES IN STUDIO. Cloud puts down the phone, then, and tries to fall back asleep. But his head swarms with memories and doubts and truths, and instead he gazes at the gray sky lightening as the sun rises in a world far away.

 _—_


	15. Chapter fifteen

**A/N:** This chapter's soundtrack is brought to you by k-pop. All jokes aside, I did listen a lot to Sunmi's "Siren" and "Heroine", Shaun's "Way Back Home", and HYO's "Sober". All completely unrelated to the content of the chapter, in case you're wondering; I'm just sharing the inspiration.

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

—

15

—

The soldier's footsteps fall in line with the Captain's. He can't wrap his head around the news they received less than five minutes ago. The Captain had crumpled the paper he'd been holding as a communication came through his earpiece, and the soldier understood seconds later why. The Head of Development has been found dead, the Captain had said; it's the terrorist, he'd said, the addition useless. Of course it was Avalanche.

The Captain had stormed out, gesturing at the soldier to follow him. He'd gone, unaware of their destination until the Captain had them go up two flights and into the Research floor. The soldier had gulped as he'd stepped out of the elevator. Research isn't accessible to ranks like his. He immediately wondered what he'd find out here; the morbid turn his thoughts took surprised him.

He wasn't far off—he discovers it when a pained roar escapes from a nearby room. The soldier keeps on marching next to his Captain, not deigning a glance in that direction. Soon, they reach a large set of doors. The Captain orders him to stand by, and so he does, facing the hallway as his superior officer walks in. All the soldier hears before the swinging doors fall shut is an indignant whine sounding like _Why are you here_.

He waits. One minute, two minutes, three minutes—it goes on and he stays still. The Captain reappears, followed by President Shinra. The soldier salutes.

"At ease," President Shinra tells him. He wears his annoyance openly. "What is going on, Captain? Dr. Hojo and I were quite busy with the batch that was just brought in."

The soldier admits to being curious, but his discipline forbids him from glancing over his shoulder.

The Captain stands straight, hands clasped behind his back. His expression is neutral, marred only by the slightest sneer. "I have news, sir."

President Shinra crosses his arm, the move slow, deliberate. "Who?"

"M. Palmer, sir."

The soldier holds still as the President reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Quiet fury radiates off him. He takes one deep breath, two deep breaths.

"Tell me what happened." With a sharp wave, he motions them towards an office. It's tiny, and the soldier stays outside as expected of him. But then the Captain ushers him in; the soldier hides his shock as he complies.

"Sephiroth," warns the President. The meaning is clear.

The Captain stands his ground. "He's part of my hand-picked unit. He might as well hear it now."

An exasperated sigh is the only answer. The President falls into the chair with an offhandedness only the most powerful man in the state can muster. He raises his eyebrows as if to say 'well?'.

"Sir," the Captain begins, "M. Palmer appears to have crashed his car into a lamp post no less than an hour ago."

"Where?"

"Near his home in Sector 2."

The President slides his hand over his chin. "Bold."

With a nod, the Captain carries on. "As you might expect, the crash doesn't seem to be an accident. The tracks suggest he tried to avoid something while driving at full speed, thus resulting in the wreck. Nothing indicates there was a second car in the vicinity."

"It's a one-way," President Shinra mentions absentmindedly. "Cameras?"

"Disabled, sir."

Another sigh. "And Palmer?"

The Captain hands him a tablet in silence. The soldier cannot see what it showcases, but the sound of a video reaches him. A drawn-out noise, shouts, gasps, an explosion. He realizes the noise is a car honk.

President Shinra's lips curl inwards, his features tightening with every passing second. He gives the tablet back. The Captain gestures at the soldier to grab it, and he does. The video still plays, muted.

"Where was this found?" The President's clipped words chill the soldier.

The Captain answers something, but the soldier isn't listening anymore. The video holds his attention. It shows a luxury car warped around a lamp post, smoke barely discernible into the dark gray of late evening. All the lights lining the streets shine on the limp body of the Head of Development lying face down on the steering wheel—the origin of the never ending honking. Even from afar, the soldier can spot the blood soaked into the man's clothes. He also makes out the white Avalanche logo spray painted on the side of the car. There are people gathered close, and as a few step forward, the car blows up, a ball of fire casting light all around. The video staggers as if the person recording jumped back. It ends four seconds later. It plays on a loop; the soldier tears his eyes away.

"They're bold." President Shinra's statement is loud as he gets to his feet in a brusque move. "Oh, they're bold." He laughs. "I want the Board to gather in an hour. You'll be there as well. And bring the Turks."

The Captain plucks the tablet out of the soldier's hands and consults a file. "Agent Tseng is the only one in office at the moment. All the others are on assignments."

"Pull them out. I don't care," he enunciates very clearly as the Captain raises his head, a small protest. "I don't care if we lose progress on other situations. This is an emergency. Pull them out." He goes on to add something, but stops himself. Then, with definite reluctance, "Who's supervising mako distribution?"

"Agent James, sir. We pulled him out of the field over a month ago; he's coordinating things now."

"All right." President Shinra grunts, displeased. "Leave him. We can't let that drop. We're finally making progress."

The Captain's attention pricks at him. "Sir?"

The President gives pointed glance at the soldier, but replies nonetheless. "It's coming together. Slowly."

Minutes later, they're dismissed. As they walk by ominous doors and amongst groans, the soldier reflects on what he learned today. It's when the elevator doors are about to close, and he glimpses President Shinra walking back into the room they found him that the pieces of the puzzle start to fall together. He didn't mean to catch sight of the trashing man strapped to a chair, but he did.

And for the first time in his life, a silver of doubt creeps upon him.

What are they really doing?

—

It's near dark on a Friday when Tifa walks home from the store. The sidewalks crawl with people; that's why she doesn't spot Vincent at first. He looks casual leaning against a corner leading to an alley and scanning the crowd. His eyes meet hers right as she's about to go past him. Tifa goes to greet him when his hand shoots out, and he drags her into the alley, the move so fast she can't react. By some miracle, she maintains her grip on her bag full of groceries.

"I need to speak with you," he whispers with urgency.

Tifa wrenches her arm away. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Not here. Cameras." He advances into the alley. "Come on."

Hesitancy takes over, but so does curiosity, and the latter wins the battle. On her guard, Tifa follows him; they go around the bend, finding themselves meters away from the emergency exit of a restaurant. The door is closed.

Vincent faces her, his back to the wall. He stands calm despite his previous agitation, hands at his sides. Tifa reminds herself of the short knife she has hidden on her. Something about his demeanor differs from the last times she saw him.

"So?"

With one more glance over his shoulder, Vincent is apparently satisfied by their privacy. "I know about you," he says.

The words are so simple, and Tifa wonders what he means. There is the obvious answer, of course—he knows about her being a Carrier, or being part of Avalanche, or both. But showing her panic would only admit to something.

"I don't get it."

"Tifa—" He swears. "I _know_."

She wouldn't be surprised if he could perceive the beat of her pulse at her neck.

"Vincent, I don't understa—"

His voice is rough when he cuts her off. "It was over two months ago. You went in the alley behind 7th Heaven to throw out the trash. You were on your phone, and when you walked back, you stepped on a cat's tail."

Tifa feels the ground below her shatter. She remembers that day.

"The cat's cry scared you. You jumped back too far, too fast for it to be _normal_." Vincent carries on, "You panicked after; you kept looking around before running inside. You were afraid someone had seen you."

Tifa swallows the fear building through her. "What do you want?" To her dismay, she sounds weaker than she would have liked.

"I'd like your help."

Anger replaces fear, and she clenches her fists. "So you're blackmailing me?"

"No." Vincent is still calm, too calm for her taste. "No, I wanted you to understand why I came to you." He pauses, bites his lip, then inhales. "Shinra's bringing in Carriers."

"Which they've always done. Get to the point, Vincent."

He looks into the alley again, making sure they're alone. Then, "They're taking them to Shinra Tower. They all end up in Research. Everyone they can get their hands on without raising too much suspicion."

Tifa straightens. "How?"

"Raids. I'm sure you've noticed the increase."

She had, as well as the growing number of arrests. But it had seemed almost trivial at the time, something to be discussed later. What could she do alone against the military?

"Vincent, what do they _do_?" She hears the thunder in her voice.

He shakes his head. "They register them in a database before they're brought in Research. After that, they disappear. Only body bags come out."

 _Dean Costas. Thirty-seven, Shinra Corp employee, Research division. The child?_

 _Registered, sir._

It all falls into place. The reason for Dean Costas's panic as he asked for help; why the child had been so afraid; how come the Captain had been present. And Vincent…

She moves, lightning-quick, pining him to the wall, her short knife at his throat. He's taller, and reaching up is a challenge, but she isn't deterred. He stays still.

"You work for Shinra." She meant for it to be clear, strong, but what comes out is a hiss a fury.

Vincent doesn't acknowledge this, but Tifa doesn't need a confirmation. Her grip on the knife tightens; it helps to hide the tremor of her hand.

"What's the point in telling me all this?" She's fishing, trying to gauge how much he knows.

"You can help," he says.

"How do you expect me to stop raids?"

He stays unruffled. "If you stop Shinra, you stop the raids."

Tifa holds in her cry of frustration. Goddamn it, he _knows_. "And I'm supposed to do that how?"

He gives her knife a wary glance. "Avalanche."

It's tempting to apply pressure at his neck and have all of this end. It's a nightmare, Tifa thinks, and if she does it, she'll wake up. But instead she steps back, her hand swinging back to her side.

Vincent saves her a question. "It's my job to find out." He rubs his neck.

"What do you really want, Vincent?" The defeat in her voice is glaring.

"You're approaching this wrong. I do work for Shinra, but I'm not after you." He hesitates. "I'm not for Avalanche either."

Tifa lets out a disbelieving laugh. "So you're just playing whichever side of the conflict fits your daily agenda?"

Her barb doesn't land. "I do what I can, but I do it my way. From the inside. Change can be quiet. I've been giving them neutral information so you can stay undiscovered, but I don't know how long that'll last."

"So every time we met, you were gathering intel?"

He nods.

"That explains the change in attitude," she mumbles.

"I had to give them something. Look, you do what you want with the info I gave you," he says, pushing away from the wall. "I can't help more than that." He makes to walk away.

"Vincent, wait."

He stops. Tifa doesn't know how she looks right now—probably a wild mix of angry and afraid. Still, she steps up to him until she has to tip her head back to glance at his face.

She speaks, as calm as she can, as strong as she can. The threat is plain, but she wants him to understand she means it. "If I see you around 7th Heaven again, I'll kill you. Thanks for the intel," she calls out as she strides away.

It's when she merges into the crowd and is two streets away that she realizes she dropped her bag groceries at some point. Cloud and her will have to eat at the bar—

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Her heartbeat races; she hears its drum in her ears, like she's being consumed by the sound. Maintaining her composure is hard, but she keeps appearances until she walks inside 7th Heaven. It's a full house tonight, and she avoids eye contact as she weaves through the mass of customers.

It hits her, then, how much of a fucking idiot she is. She should have killed him. Goddamn it, _she_ _should have_ _killed him_. What if he'd been lying? What if he changes his mind? What if, what if, what if—

She has to tell Barret—but she has no real info for him. Yuffie—she should ask Yuffie to track him. Her thoughts disjointed, she rushes for the back store, ignoring the people greeting her. The door falls shut behind her, and soon the wall panel slides back. But Yuffie isn't downstairs, and Tifa remembers suddenly that it was the girl's turn in the kitchen.

Her coat suffocates her, and she rips it off herself. It lands on one of the chair, then skids to the ground, but she leaves it there. She paces along the walls. Tifa imagines this is what people call 'freaking out'.

She keeps rewinding the encounter, then going through the few times she saw Vincent. It frustrates her that she can't see what would have given him away. The way he acted today was different, and she wagers this was the real Vincent.

Her spinning mind overwhelms her; she halts in the middle of the room. There's nothing to do right now. She has to wait until Yuffie is done with her shift; after that, they'll try to find information on him. But then again—all she knows about him is the name he goes by, which might not even be real, and that he works for Shinra. Tifa isn't sure this is enough for Yuffie, but she's at least got to try.

Twenty minutes pass, and Tifa finally feels more composed. She puts her fallen coat on a hook. They have a tiny mirror in the room, and she examines herself before going back upstairs. She grimaces at the sight of her hair brushing her shoulders; other than that, she looks presentable. Her eyes are a little stormy, but she figures it's not too apparent.

She leaves the oppressing silence of doubts and reproach behind as she enters the main area of the bar. The loud music and the buzz of voices are soothing in their familiarity. It's her day off, but she still finds herself wishing she was working tonight. Maybe it'd help in distracting her. But she watches Biggs and Sylvie run around on the other side of the counter, and they have the situation handled. So instead, she squeezes through the crowd at the bar, and walks behind it to get herself a drink. She could use one.

Friday nights are always a mix between regulars and strangers. Tifa gets both curious looks and warm greetings as she serves herself a beer. Biggs smiles at her. Sylvie ushers her out in a second, telling her, "It's your night off, honey, you're a customer," but Tifa knows the older woman just wants no one messing behind the bar. Someone gets up from their seat, and she seizes the stool before anyone spots it.

Her muscles relax as she drinks her beer and the atmosphere of 7th Heaven flows over her. Thinking about Vincent and what he knows and what he could do isn't productive right now; she shoves those concerns away for the moment.

One drink turns into two, and Yuffie isn't out of the kitchen. Tifa curses herself for not peeking at the schedule pinned in Barret's office; she could still go, but that would mean giving up her seat. She ends up swiveling it around to observe the crowd. It's only grown bigger as the night went on, though Cid still stands out. Tifa shakes her head when she realizes he's almost sober and shouting nonetheless. He's been listening to Barret's instructions for joining Avalanche and toned his drinking down.

Cid lets out a particularly noisy yell. Next to him, Cloud throws a dart causing another loud cheer to be released. Two dismayed regulars stand close to Cid. She figures they must have bet against Cloud.

It's warm in the bar, and Cloud has a slight sheen to him, like he's been here for a while. The dark gray t-shirt he wears clings to his back. It's one she bought for him almost two weeks ago. She thought he needed clothes considering his situation, and she'd gone out with Jesse on a whim. Cid and a reluctant Biggs had loaned him clothes in the meantime, but they were always too short or too big. Cloud had insisted on paying her back, and she'd accepted a third of the money, telling him it was half. He does have money—from the last time he fought in the underground he told her—but she prefers he keeps it for his own emergencies since he can't get a proper job.

She watches Cid gloat and Cloud prepare for another turn of darts. When it lands, Cid is ecstatic; he must be getting a good amount from this bet. Cloud runs a hand through his disheveled hair, a shadow of a smirk curling his lips. Tifa shouldn't note these things, but she does, and she reprimands herself for it. She's attracted to him, this isn't news to her—but it's so, so easy to forget where they stand when he looks like he's having fun. Like he isn't planning on doing something that will get him killed.

 _The second you bring me close enough to my goal, I'm leaving you behind._

It's hard to admit his words hurt her, and it's not so much that they did when he said them; they hurt as she remembers. That he promised to think about staying is a consolation, but Tifa's hopes are little. She knows she'll get hurt when it all ends, and yet—

Tifa walks over to Cloud as he wraps up this game. Cid doesn't see her as he counts his money with glee while striking casual conversation with the vanquished.

"Hey."

Cloud's head turn, slowly, like he expected her to be there. He gives her a small but genuine smile. "Hey you."

It's unfair, Tifa thinks, it's unfair when he smiles like that. She gulps the last of her drink, gesturing at the dart board.

"Seems like you won."

He laughs. "I think you need a stronger word than _won_."

A laugh, too? Damn it, how much did he drink? She'd ask, but she's afraid her question might sap his good mood.

Someone bumps into her; their drink sloshes over the side, staining her shirt. "Watch it," she snaps at the guy. He leers and wanders away, swaying on his feet.

"Here."

Cloud hands her napkins he must have snatched from a nearby table. With a mumbled thank you, Tifa dabs as much of the excess as possible. She's wearing all black, so the stain doesn't show up, but she still needs to change before she reeks.

"I'm going up," she tells Cloud. He nods and turns to join Cid. She's a little peeved by his cold dismissal, honestly. She glances back at the room as she unlocks the door leading up; Cloud's eyes cross with hers, like he watched her walk away, but he diverts his gaze at the last second.

Once she's up in the apartment, she feels exhausted. The glass is still in her hand—she forgot to put it down. She leaves it on the kitchen counter. A quick shower and a change of comfy clothes later, she sits on the couch watching TV. A cartoon plays, and she muted it minutes ago. She didn't actually want the entertainment.

Tifa's thoughts spiral again now she's alone. She decides to text Yuffie, knowing the girl will check her phone sooner than she'll finish her shift. She wrote a simple question, asking if it's possible to find someone through a name and little other info. To no one's surprise, Yuffie's answer is immediate.

 _You know what he looks like? Send me the info, I'll run it later._

 _He goes by Vincent. Works for Shinra. White, black hair, dark eyes, tall._

A second later, her phone lights up. _What do you wanna know?_

Tifa reflects on that. If she tells Yuffie about Vincent, the info will reach Barret, and she isn't sure that's what she wants. Not yet, at least. Not until she knows how much of a threat he is.

 _Basic info. Shouldn't you be working?_

Yuffie's annoyance almost pours from the phone. _Ok_.

Footsteps from the staircase resonate amid the chaos of the bar downstairs. Her doorknob turns, and Cloud walks in. Tifa masks her confusion. She'd expected him to stay with Cid.

He frowns. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

Tifa hadn't been aware of it, but she is; there's only the brightness of the television flashing in the room. The curtains are dark and thick, not allowing the outside lights in.

"Felt like it, I guess."

Cloud keeps on surprising her when he flops on the couch close to her, and his arm wraps around the back of the sofa. His hand dangles near her shoulder. Her eyebrows go up.

This time, she can't resist asking. "How much did you drink?"

Like the first time he came to 7th Heaven, he raises his hand, showing her two fingers.

"Cid dragged me downstairs," he says as if it explains everything.

His proximity is kinda troublesome, but she's sitting at the extremity and can't scoot away. She doesn't really want to, anyway.

Cloud lets his head fall backwards and closes his eyes. "I'm ready to drop."

"Why?" Maybe Barret gave him a job again. They only saw each other in the morning, then she went down to work with Barret on the bar's finances and management before heading out.

She glimpses his jaw clenching, his indecision. "Today was hard."

It's the first time he breaches the topic of his grief of his own volition. The initial feeling that spreads through her is similar to the time he cleaned her room; a strange mixture of sadness and vexation. Why get closer if he'll only leave? But then—this is his way of thinking about it, she realizes, this is his way of trying. She can't reproach him that.

"How come?" She asks, quiet.

Cloud opens his eyes. He stares ahead, not vacantly like he did before, but as if he won't be able to speak if he looks at her.

"It's… It gets lonely, yeah? And also—it's terrible. It really is." He fidgets, causing his body to slide down the couch. The motion jostles Tifa closer; their sides brush, but neither react.

"The loneliness, you mean?"

"Well, yeah, but I meant the—" He cuts himself off. He bites his lip. "The realization, you know? Carrying on. That's what's terrible. When you understand that life does go on without someone. When it becomes real." Growing agitated, he removes his arm around the sofa and leans forward, elbows on his knees. "It hit me hard today." He inhales, the sound shaky. The TV shines on the blankness of his face.

There isn't anything right to say here, she knows it.

"It's not the first—" Cloud stops, his expression becoming pained.

Tifa can guess what he was about to say. "It's not the first time?"

He nods, the motion jerky. A pause grows until he chuckles with no humor. He falls back into the cushions.

"Doesn't get easier," he ends up saying. "I keep having these thoughts. That I have to tell her something, or see how she's doing, or even what she wants to eat tonight. Like all these everyday things. They don't go away, and—" He swallows. "I don't get to ask because there's _no one_ to ask. But life continues anyway. That's what's terrible."

Seeing him like this hurts her. She shouldn't care so much, but damn it, she does. "Cloud—"

"Anyway, I practiced," he interrupts loudly.

Tifa bites her tongue; if he switches topics, it must be because he's growing too emotional. Now's not the time to push.

"How did it go?" She asks instead.

His practice is a crude training to get him to gain better control over his ability. The situation considered, they can't have him set things on fire at random outside. Instead, she gathered as many candles as she could to serve as targets. They switch up their placement every few days, and he has to light them from a distance. The first three tries were a near disaster, but by now, she can let him do it alone (with a fire extinguisher). She hopes that by teaching him how to focus his ability he'll be less swayed by it when his emotions become overwhelming.

"Not bad. Watch." He makes a vague wave towards the table; she hadn't even noted the array of candles when she came in. All but two of the dozen ignite.

This is definite progress, and the prospect thrills her. "Cloud, that's great. How much did you practice?"

"A lot," he admits. Another wave and the flames die out. "I wanted to see if I could step it up." Last week, he'd only been able to light three candles at once.

Tifa hums. "That could be why you're tired." At his inquisitive glance, she goes on, "It uses up energy. For me at least, but I guess it's the same for you. And you've barely ever used it, so your stamina must be low."

"Makes sense." He nudges her with his elbow. "By the way, you okay?" It's her turn to look curious. "You seemed a little out of it at the bar. I didn't want to ask there."

Tifa turns her head away to watch the TV. That explains why he followed her upstairs. She plays with the hem of her oversized sweater, unsure if she should tell him. At the same time, she really wants to let it out. She twists back to face him.

"There's a guy, a customer," she starts, and regrets her choice of words at Cloud's almost imperceptible hand twitch. She clears her throat, deciding to cut the chase. "He knows about Avalanche."

Cloud's head jerk backwards. "What? How?"

That's when Tifa realizes she doesn't even _know_ how. She didn't ask, and he didn't say. Damn it, another mistake.

"I'm not sure," she replies. "But he works for Shinra; he said it was his job to find out." The moment she says it, she feels ridiculous for letting Vincent go. Cloud's eyes widen, but he keeps silent.

"What did he want?"

Tifa crosses her arms. "Help."

"With what?"

"He told me they're arresting Carriers and bringing them to Shinra's Research Division. They never come out."

Cloud frowns. "Research, uh? So—human experiments?"

"Could be," Tifa answers, distracted by the idea. "Whatever it is, they all die. That's why Vincent wanted us to know—so we could try to do something about it."

Cloud rakes a hand through his hair. "Don't take this the wrong way, Tifa, but… Avalanche doesn't seem too worried over our situation."

She drops her gaze to the TV. "I haven't told Barret yet."

"Why?

"I don't have enough info on Vincent for anything to be done. And I don't want to hear him dismiss this." Tifa is rather sure he will, not because he doesn't care, but because it wouldn't be practical to do otherwise.

Practical. The word echoes in her head. The _practical_ thing to do would have been to kill Vincent.

"Fuck, I'm such an idiot." It spills out, loud and angry. "I let him go. Cloud, _I_ _let him go_. What if he was bluffing, or he was trying to lure us somewhere, or—"

"Whoa, whoa, Tifa, calm down." Cloud raises a hand, placating. "You said it, there's nothing to be done for now."

Tifa nods, but she's far from collected. "You're right, but—"

"Hey, come on." He wraps an arm around her shoulders, giving her a little shake. "Stop thinking about this."

Right then, Tifa's phone flashes with a new email. She grabs it, eager to see what Yuffie has to say. It's short, with a file attached. Tifa downloads it before she reads the message. It's about a dozen pictures, all of men with 'Vincent' in their name, all matching the description she provided. None are the right Vincent. Her shoulders hunch in disappointment. She swears.

 _I didn't have a lot to go on. Any of them who you were looking for?_

Tifa hesitates before writing, _Yes, thank you_ , and hitting send. If she asks Yuffie to dig deeper, she might ask too many questions, and the info would travel to Barret.

She puts the phone down. Cloud sagged backwards into the sofa, but kept his arm around her. She allows her head to fall on it. Just this once, she tells herself as she closes her eyes.

When she opens them again, it's pitch black in the apartment. The TV is turned off. Cloud still has a loose hold on her; he fell down on the couch, dragging her with him. His chest pillows her cheek, his even breathing a summon for her to go back sleep. But she's chilly despite her sweater, and she should move; she really should, shouldn't she? Her slight movement stirs Cloud; he keeps his eyes closed, only half-awake.

"I'm cold," she whispers.

He mumbles something incoherent, but twists on his side, cocooning her between the sofa and his body. His hold tightens. She waits. Less than a minute later, he's asleep again.

Tifa hates this. This is like his smiles and his laughs; it's unfair, and yet she doesn't want them to end. Still, she curls up around him.

Just this once, she reminds herself.

—


	16. Chapter sixteen

**A/N:** Okay, sorry for the wait. This is actually two chapters merged together, so we get a grand total of, like, 10, 800 words. That's why it took a while and why there's a switch in POV. This was a pain to edit because of the length, so hopefully there aren't too many mistakes.

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

—

16

—

"It's obviously a trap."

"Well, _yeah_ , it's a trap, genius."

"Oh, so what should we do, _genius_?"

Tifa pinches the bridge of her nose as Avalanche's bickering washes over her. In the corner, Barret looks pensive, but she knows he's more exasperated than anything else.

"They've planted that information for me to find," Jesse shouts the last words to be heard over Biggs. He huffs at her glare. "Everyone in Shinra Tower is talking about Scarlet taking a week off. They knew it'd reach us."

Yuffie's rapid typing serves as background noise, and Tifa wishes it'd stop. A meter away, Cloud appears to be dozing off in his chair. Wedge sits close, irritation clear on his face. At the table, Cid and Biggs argue while Jesse tries to mediate.

"They're luring us out," Cid insists. "The hotel will be rampant with undercover soldiers."

"Security will be tighter from now on; it's a chance we shouldn't waste."

The back-and-forth goes on, and Tifa contemplates walking out for a second. One more glance at Barret tells her he finds no use to this discussion. And by now she has a headache.

"Enough," she says. "Enough!"

Cid whirls around, his mouth still forming his next argument, but it shuts quickly at the sight of her. Biggs sits down.

"You're wasting our time." She gestures to Cid and Biggs. "We got your opinions five minutes ago. Wedge?" She looks at him. "What do you think?"

Wedge lets out a sigh. "I'm not sure the benefits outweigh the risks."

Jesse nods. "It'd be dangerous. Whoever goes in would expose themselves."

"Yeah, but when is Scarlet ever going to be so easy to find?" Biggs glares at his friends like they betrayed him.

Barret clears his throat, and they all fall silent. "The people who will go in should decide."

Every head turns to Cloud, who is still leaning back in his chair, eyes closed. His indifferent shrug is the only proof he was listening.

"Kid," Cid snaps at him. "Don't be a dick."

Cloud opens his eyes, his expression transmitting his annoyance. Well, at least he's showing his emotions now. His arms stay crossed against his chest, and defiance flows from him as he takes in the looks sent his way. She rubs her forehead when she realizes he's about to say something just to spite the others.

"Since you asked," Cloud says with forced concern, "then, no, I don't care if I go in. But me and whoever else will need false IDs for this to work. We'll need the security disabled, which means Yuffie has to come." A shrieked _What!_ interrupts him, but he disregards it. "So that's another false ID. We'll need to pay for the luxury hotel. At least two nights if not more. Scarlet will have at least one person following her everywhere. Ambushing her will be almost impossible. They'll be waiting for us to make a desperate move which means other soldiers will be close to arrest us. Also, it would mean killing her in a public place with no time for preparations. So yeah, I guess it is doable." He shrugs again.

Silence follows, and Tifa has to hide her smirk behind her hand. Cid's shoulders move as he struggles to keep in a laugh. Ahead of her, Biggs blinks repeatedly, like he can't believe what he heard.

"You've—you've thought about this," he lets out.

Cloud's lips twist into an angry smile. "Well, it is my life on the line."

A chair hits the wall; Yuffie stands up, glowering at Cloud.

"I'm not going anywhere," she growls.

"Can you disable security cameras from here on short notice?" It's Barret who asks, his gaze still on Cloud. Tifa realizes he's contemplating everything Cloud stated.

Yuffie's leg twitches like she was going to stomp her foot but thought better. "Maybe. No. How short?" She asks Cloud.

"The window could be tight. Minutes."

Yuffie throws her body back into her chair, almost missing it. Anything for the drama, it seems.

"Cloud," Barret says loudly to bring attention to himself. When he has it, he carries on, "Those are valid points. Does it mean you have a plan?"

Although it might not be obvious to everyone, Tifa spots the moment Cloud is rendered speechless. He must have thought he'd spite them by showing he wasn't useless, but he didn't count on Barret taking him seriously. He glances at Tifa, quick and subtle, but finds no answer from her. She wants him to elaborate.

"Uh, kind of."

Cid nods with enthusiasm, a signal for Cloud to continue when he doesn't. "Do we know when she'll be there?"

It takes a moment for Jesse to understand the question is addressed to her. "Oh, she's taking her week off this Monday. She keeps telling everyone she'll be at the Honeybee Inn on the first day."

"Okay, well, let's say me and someone else go in a day before that, and Yuffie the next." Cloud ignores Yuffie's snort. He leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "We'll have to lie low and try to find the best time to get to her. When the opportunity comes, Yuffie disables the cameras or something. It'd be ideal if we could plan it a bit in advance." He runs a hand through his hair, tugging on it. "The only problem is when we'd leave. There's no way we can stay after we kill her; we can't give them the time to lock down the place. If we leave suddenly, it'll be suspicious. And they'll have our faces on record, so identifying us wouldn't be hard after that."

"But Scarlet will be waiting for us," Tifa says, staring at the ground as she muses what he said over. "She'll make herself easy to find. If we have enough time to observe her, we could catch on some patterns perhaps, and plan around that. If we do it right, we could kill her right before our check-out time."

"She'll be easy to find, but she won't be easy to approach," Cloud reminds her.

Tifa lifts a shoulder. "It's a gamble."

"You'll be going?" The question comes from Barret. His tone is tentative, a little worried.

Tifa blinks in confusion. "Well, yes, I assumed. I went with Cloud for Heidegger and Palmer, so I thought…" She trails off.

"You could get identified," Cloud says. His voice is softer than the one he uses around other people, causing a few weird looks to be thrown his way.

Tifa pinches her lips together. "So could you."

He says nothing, but she knows what he's thinking. That it doesn't matter as much for him. An idea hits her—that he might want to be recognized and arrested so they could bring him to the Captain. She can't help her frown. This isn't something she can say in front of everyone else.

Barret doesn't let it go. "This is high-risk, Tifa. You'd be exposed."

But the comment rubs her the wrong way. "I was exposed when I ran in front of Palmer's vehicle to cause an accident. In residential Sector 2," she adds for emphasis.

"We made sure the attention wasn't on you by causing a distraction, and you know that." Barret goes on before she can protest. "This time we can't do that. They'll be on high alert on the surrounding perimeter."

Tifa sweeps the room with her arm. "Well, do we have another volunteer?"

With obvious hesitancy, Wedge raises his hand.

"Convincing." Biggs rolls his eyes.

"I don't see you volunteering," Jesse fires back with a kick to his chair. "I'd go if it wasn't for the Shinra job," she tells Tifa.

"It's fine. You need to keep it. You really want to go, Wedge?" Tifa doubts he does.

"No," Wedge admits, quiet. "But I don't want you to feel you need to. You two have already done a lot."

Tifa's reply comes fast. "Because you are all behind us. We couldn't do anything without all of your help." They're a team, and she needs them to feel like one. "I'll go," she tells them, her tone final. "We all know it's the best option."

No one argues further, and they plan. Tifa doesn't miss Barret's sudden bad mood—it is actually rather hard to miss. He grunts and swears, his words coming out brusque and sharp. Cid lets himself get swept up in it, and soon the atmosphere degenerates. Still, they organize something decent considering the short notice.

"You leave the day after tomorrow," Barret announces as a dismissal.

Tifa nods in Cloud's direction, and after a beat, he does the same.

They'll be ready.

—

The moment they step inside the Honeybee Inn, nervousness creeps up Tifa's back. The place is amazing in a way she never could have imagined. Dark wood walls, colorful carpets, and dazzling chandeliers make up the décor from an older era. Tifa has never seen so much wealth in one place before, and she feels inappropriate in her new clothes. They're fine, and she knows it deep down, but the luxury dwarfs her self-assurance. She already had two sets of clothes she uses for her visits to richer Sectors, but they were getting old. Cloud and her went out on an express shopping spree yesterday to get suitable clothing. She can't get over the amount of money Avalanche spent on this mission. Thankfully, the bar provides more than enough.

At her side, Cloud shoves his hands in his coat's pockets to hide his fidgeting. He's uncomfortable in his crisp button-down and trench coat. Tifa has to concede he looks a little weird dressed like that. It's not his style, and it shows. They did their best to tame his hair, but that was a lost cause. Tifa trimmed the ends, though, as they were getting long, and it helped a modicum.

In an effort to reassure both him and herself, Tifa links her arm with his. They head for the check-in counter. She's never doubted Yuffie's ability to get them false IDs, but the stakes feel higher this time. She does a good job at hiding her stress as the employee checks them in. When he asks for their ID cards, Cloud and Tifa provide them. Both their hands are steady. The employee types in information and then looks at them with a smile.

"You're all set, M. and Mrs Summers. We'll show you to your room." He gives them the IDs back. Tifa does her best not to snatch them from his hands.

Their room is on the seventh floor out of fifteen, and the hotel porter accompanies them. Their luggage comprises one suitcase on the smaller side, but the employee at the counter had insisted they should take care of it. Tifa abstained from commenting—she'd wanted to remind him the suitcase _rolls_ and they have an elevator. Instead, she'd thanked him with a polite smile.

The doors of the elevator open in the middle of the corridor and the porter turns on the right, stopping three doors down. He drops the suitcase inside and walks out with a 'good evening'.

Tifa twists around to take in the room; her jaw drops at the size.

"Did we get the biggest room? It's way too big."

Cloud snorts as he jerks off the coat and throws it on the back of the couch. "Yuffie said she got one in the middle."

"Damn." Tifa removes her peacoat as well, hanging it in the wardrobe next to the entrance. "I hope business at the bar doesn't drop."

She takes the time to observe the place. There's a small dining area to her left, and a TV with a couch straight ahead, with the bed and the bathroom to her right. She walks in the latter, blinking at the lavishness.

"All right," she mumbles. "This is something."

"Should we order room service?" Cloud calls from the main room.

Tifa steps out of the bathroom to see him wave what looks like a menu. "They bring food to our room?"

"Yeah. You've never been in a hotel?" He looks delighted.

She narrows her eyes at him. "No. Only cheap motels and they didn't bring us food. Why are you so smug?"

The corner of Cloud's lips lifts in an adorable smile. He taps the top of her head with the menu. There's no heat to it. "I finally know something you don't."

Tifa stands with a hand on her hip. "You know plenty I don't."

He opens the menu, glancing through it with disinterest. "Like what?"

She's horrified when she realizes she has no answer for him. "You're great at fighting," she grumbles, knowing she lost.

Cloud doesn't appear offended. His tiny smile even grows. "Thank you. Do we have a budget for food?"

"Why? Does everything look good?" She plucks the menu from him and blanches at the sight of the prices. "Oh."

"Barret said we need to act like this is normal for us."

She grimaces. "Did he know how much a club sandwich costs, though?"

"Well, he did go through the hotel's website yesterday." Cloud shrugs. "I want the pasta."

It does look good, and Tifa's stomach rumbles as she reads through the menu. They've usually eaten by now. Before she can choose, Cloud steals the menu and heads for the phone. He orders them both the pasta as she watches, arms crossed. He turns to her once he hangs up.

"You're enjoying this." She didn't mean for it to be accusing.

"Maybe a little," Cloud acknowledges as he sits on the sofa. "Tonight's a break. I'll be more focused tomorrow."

"A break?"

"Isn't it? Away from 7th Heaven, no assignment tonight, good company." He grabs the remote and turns on the TV at a low volume.

"There's nothing wrong with 7th Heaven," Tifa says. It's really to disguise her pleased surprise at his good company comment.

"It's noisy," Cloud counters. "And Cid is always there. He nags a lot."

That's not something she disagrees with. She sits down on the other side of the sofa. "What else?"

"Biggs is annoying." He undoes the two top buttons of his shirt and rolls the sleeves up. He sighs, clearly more at ease.

Tifa raises her eyebrows, expectant. "And?"

"And Barret watches me like a hawk. Everyone else is fine."

She gets the urge to ask if she is just 'fine', but shuts her mouth. She's afraid of the answer, no matter what it would be.

"When did you stay at a fancy hotel?" She asks instead.

Cloud fiddles with the remote. "It was a long time ago. And it wasn't fancy."

"Fancy enough for room service." She gets the impression he doesn't want to elaborate. "It doesn't matter, anyway."

Her attempt at letting it go isn't subtle, but it doesn't seem to bother Cloud. They stay silent until the food arrives and Cloud gets to his feet to get it. He brings it back to the couch, setting the plates down on the low table. Tifa is halfway through her plate when he speaks again. He's already done with his.

"Can I ask you a question?"

She nods.

"What's up with Barret?"

"Uh, I'm not sure what you mean."

"I meant what's up with his mood swings whenever you're involved?" He rests his head in his hand, his body sprawled in the corner of the sofa. He takes a lot of space, but Tifa doesn't mind; she's curled on herself in the other corner, comfortable as she is.

"Oh, that." She takes her last bite of paste to stall and put her thoughts in order. Once she's done, she puts the plate on the table next to Cloud's empty one. "He's overprotective."

His features morph into a 'no shit' expression.

She shrugs. "Barret raised me. I'm like a daughter to him."

Cloud digs his hand into his hair, ruffling the somewhat clean style. "Uh. That explains a lot."

"Does it?"

"Yeah," he replies, his attention suddenly on the TV. "It does."

Curiosity snakes through Tifa, and she debates asking what he means. In the end, she dismisses the urge.

"There's a reason for it, you know. The overprotectiveness," she clarifies at his puzzled look. "Barret's like that for a reason."

"Yeah?"

Barret wouldn't want her to say this to Cloud, and she's aware of that. But she wants to talk about it. She's never told anyone.

"Barret used to have a kid."

Cloud tenses.

"Her name was Marlene. He was married, too. His wife died in a raid."

"She was a Carrier?" His tone is soft.

She shakes her head. "She was caught in the cross-fire. A soldier opened fire, and she died from a stray bullet. But Marlene…" Tifa takes a deep breath. "Marlene was one, I think. Barret doesn't like to talk about her and he's never told me. But it makes sense. He was so obsessed with drilling discipline in me so they would never catch me." She remembers all the times he said 'not you' when speaking of Carriers and Shinra; she can't forget the countless drills and practices. Mostly, she can't erase the constant fear in his eyes from her mind. "It makes sense," she ends weakly.

"How old was she?"

"Around ten. I was the same age when he found me."

"Found you?" He asks still in this gentle voice.

"Yeah. I was living on the streets with these two older girls. They acted like they would let me tag along, but I think they liked me deep down. We got robbed one night, and they got killed trying to fight back." Tifa glances down at her nails, feigning indifference. Talking about this is harder than she'd expected. "I ran away. Straight into Barret. My control was nonexistent, and he knew I was a Carrier within seconds; he brought me to safety. And here we are." She forces a smile.

Cloud's stare is difficult to read. She doesn't see pity, doesn't expect it either, but there's something about his expression that's close. Understanding, she realizes, it's understanding.

"Anyway." Her voice comes out too loud. She stands up. "I'm tired."

"It's eight," Cloud deadpans, his focus on the TV. He knows what she's doing, and her avoidance seems to annoy him.

"I haven't been sleeping too well." It's a half-lie.

Cloud adds nothing else as she rummages through the suitcase they brought, picking out her sleeping clothes and toiletries. She throws him a glance over her shoulder before entering the bathroom, but his gaze is still on the television. The door shuts quietly behind her. Tifa drops her small bag on the counter. Sudden tendrils of anger swirl through her, and she tosses her clothes on the floor. She finds herself unable to regret the immature gesture.

This situation has her on edge. Avalanche comes first, it always does, and she would never have refused the mission because of her and Cloud's relationship. But now—now she is here and they only have each other for company, she can admit to herself she wishes someone else had gone.

Her movements are mechanical as she strips and showers and washes her hair. Tifa is turning off the water when she accepts that her anger is at herself. For letting herself walk into this trap; for seeing it coming and not trying hard to detach. She's dressing when she admits to herself that she cares for Cloud more than she should. By tracing back the string of their interactions, she knows her feelings started on that first night at 7th Heaven, only growing from there; the circumstances only fueled this development in a vicious irony.

One more time, she thinks as she dries her hair; she'll ask him about what he plans on doing one more time, and that'll be all. Calm sweeps over her, acceptance a relief. When she exits the bathroom, she glances at him—exactly where she left him. Tifa stays silent at first; she grabs a book she brought with her and settles on the bed over the covers. The book is an excuse to gather her courage, and she pretends to read while planning their next conversation.

But said plans get derailed when Cloud shuts the TV, coming to sit across her on the bed. Tifa blinks at him while he stares back.

"Hi," she says because nothing else comes to mind.

Cloud reaches out and lowers her book, casting it aside.

"That's rude." She frowns at his anxious look, contrary to his confident actions.

"You asked when I stayed in a hotel."

That isn't something she'd anticipated. Her mouth opens and closes a few times, making her appear rather lost. "I did," she ends up saying.

"Don't you want to know?" His eyes drift to hers.

This is the kind of situation she both enjoys and dislikes. Her previous anger makes a resurgence.

"I don't know," she bites out while shifting to sit cross-legged, mimicking his position. "Do I?"

Cloud's face turns into a blank mask for a moment before he allows a sliver of vulnerability to show through.

"I'd like to talk about it," he whispers. "Talk about them."

She remembers him saying Aerith wasn't the first person he lost. Her voice fails her, and she nods. This isn't something she wants to deny him.

At first, Cloud fidgets; he messes up his hair and plays with his nails, eyes down. Then, he lifts his head, and Tifa sees he's far away in the past. Yet, no words come out of him as if he can't bring himself to speak, or can't decide where to start. She can help him with that.

"Tell me about her. Who she was, how you met."

He trails his fingers over the comforter. "She was a Carrier. That's why she spoke to me. She had the ability to detect others like us."

"I thought she could control water?"

"That, too. Zack used to say she was doubly gifted."

Tifa thinks back on the night they spent in the cell. "When we were in the prison, she tried to strike a conversation with me. Do you think…"

He nods. "Yeah, she must have known, but couldn't tell you."

"I've never heard of someone having two abilities. It's impressive."

"Didn't do her any good," Cloud mumbles, leaning his head on his hand. His eyes close, and she knows he's replaying her death in his mind. "He acted so fast, Tifa." His voice is so fragile she's afraid he'll break into pieces in front of her. "He just—pulled out the gun and it was over. I still see him walking away."

"Hey, hey." Tifa reaches out and pulls his hand away from his face. He has tears in his eyes; he blinks them back. "You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you?"

"I—" His voice cracks. "I think about it every day. Sometimes I can push it back and act like everything is all right. But it's so overwhelming sometimes, fuck." Cloud inhales, exhales as if to steady himself. "It's the quiet moments that get me. And being around you doesn't help; you bring it out of me."

"Because I was there when it happened?"

The question startles Cloud. "No, no, that's not why. It's because—" He stops to wipe at a tear that threatens to fall down. "Because I trust you. I like talking to you, I like—I like being around you." He glances down as he continues, "I know it's unfair, and we've talked about it."

She senses what's coming. "But…?"

"But I can't try to move forward _and_ shut you out. I promised you I'd try, and this is me doing that. Some days I think I've decided to stay, but then everything comes back and I can't make my choice."

Hope unfurls in Tifa's chest. "But you're thinking about it? You really are?"

He looks her in the eyes as he nods, and she can tell he's sincere.

"That's enough, then," she says with all the gentleness she can muster.

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

The corner of her lips curls without her consent. "Really. Now tell me about them."

He does, and it lasts long. He starts with his encounter with Aerith and Zack; how his parents took him in, unable to ignore a fellow Carrier in need; how they grew up together, often getting into trouble. He goes on with their deaths and how he and Aerith had to live in a hotel for a few days before finding a stable place.

Tifa listens, interjecting whenever she sees the need to, but mostly she stays silent, absorbing what he tells her. He gets emotional sometimes; he pauses then since they don't have mako, and they're not willing to compromise their assignment.

To Tifa, it feels like he's expelling something from his very soul, something he can't carry anymore. He'll burn with the memories if it remains hidden behind his heart. Cloud doesn't always make sense as he weaves through his past. He gets lost and forgets she doesn't know the people he's talking about—but she only asks for a clarification from times to times, not wanting to interrupt the flow of his confession.

She's mad when her phone beeps with a message, startling both of them. She left the device in her bag near the entrance. Tifa keeps where she is, assuming it must be one of Avalanche's members checking in on them. Across from her, Cloud breathes evenly—a contrast to five minutes ago. He might even be sitting straighter, but Tifa figures that's just her imagination.

"You're not getting that?"

She shakes her head. "They'll call if it's urgent."

There's a slight moment of quiet where Cloud flees her gaze, the previous connection ruptured. He squirms but doesn't get up. Tifa curses her phone again.

"You know," she says, trying to get him to talk again. "I understand better now." His puzzled look has her go on, "Your need for revenge."

"Oh." Cloud scratches his chin, the gesture absent-minded. He strays in the universe of his thoughts again. "That wasn't…"

Tifa gives him a reassuring smile. "The goal? I know. But it gives me a better idea of who Aerith was to you."

"She was…" His eyes lower to his hands, and he follows with a sigh. "I don't even know. Too many things at once."

Curiosity is hard to resist, and Tifa has to ask. "Were you two ever together?"

Cloud frowns. "We tried after the Fairs died. A year after or so." He raises a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "I guess we were trying to fill the void with each other. It didn't work. We found out fast enough. Aerith…" He rubs the back of his head. "She and Zack had this weird relationship. They had no closure."

"What do you mean?"

"It was a mess." He cracks a smile, the first since the beginning of their talk. "There was a lot of denial on both sides. Zack was kind of playboy, too, so that didn't help." His expression turns pained again, the levity evaporating. "They were getting somewhere when they died. It really affected her." He leans his face on his hands he finishes.

Tifa senses the sudden mood change, unsure where it came from. She waits, expecting him to shed light on it, but he doesn't. Instead, Cloud's shoulders tremble as he hunches forward. She can't make out his face.

"Cloud?" She reaches out, and he lets out a shaky breath when her fingers brush his arm.

"We had a fight," he says. His voice is free of tears, but Tifa wagers they're not far behind. "It was so bad, and we never made up. They took her before—" The tremor of his body grows. "I never got to apologize."

"Hey, come on," Tifa murmurs. She grabs one of his hands and struggles not to panic when she feels how warm he is. She tugs until he allows it to fall. The temperature of his hand into hers is almost unbearable, but she can't let go. When she glances up at his face, she's surprised he isn't crying considering the state of his emotions. It's a worst kind of sadness, she realizes, one where he's got nothing left to give to the altar of mourning; one where the sorrow crystallized within him. It threatens to explode now, and the shrapnel of grief would wound him beyond repair.

"Cloud." She keeps her voice low, soothing. "Hey. Come back, okay?"

It's a little like that time at Cid's garage, when he had his violent panic attack. But in a way, Tifa thinks this is worst. His silent breakdown has her unable to orient herself, and the right action eludes her. All she can do is offer him comfort.

His name falls from her lips in a hushed plea for sanity. She lifts one of her hands to bring it to his shoulder and tries to soothe the shaking through touch. She holds back a hiss when her fingers graze the side of his neck; his skin is burning. It's becoming too much, and she makes to let go of his hand when he squeezes, the first indication he's aware of his surroundings. Tifa tries to pry it away as kindly as she can even though she wants to rip it away.

"Cloud." She speaks louder now. "Cloud, you're hurting me."

It doesn't seem to snap him out immediately, but she repeats it with more urgency, and then her hand comes free. Tifa cradles it, concealing her disgruntlement as best as she can; the skin is red, but it doesn't appear severe.

Cloud looks at her with wide eyes as he realizes what happened. His previous daze clears away with a few blinks.

"Sorry," he croaks. "I'm sorry, I—"

Tifa bites her tongue to refrain from telling him not to worry. She settles for, "It's not that bad."

"Let me see it," he asks.

She hesitates a moment; showing him will only escalate his guilt. Still, she gives him her hand.

"It's really not that bad." But her attempt at reassurance falls flat. "I'll go run it under cold water," she adds. Cloud doesn't react. "Cloud." She waits until his gaze is on her. "I'm not mad. I'm just worried about you. If you can't hide it—"

"I know," he grinds out, pulling back. He ruffles his hair, the movement curt.

Tifa leaves him like that, irate and downcast, while she goes into the bathroom. Her hand stings as she cools it off, but the sensation disappears soon enough. It wasn't a lie when she said it wasn't bad. She takes the opportunity to prepare for bed. As she brushes her hair, she grimaces. The shorter strands still seem odd.

She checks her phone after finishing up and is surprised by how late it is. The message from earlier is from Yuffie complaining about the mission, and Tifa rolls her eyes at the number of exclamation points included to convey irritation. She looks for her charger and brings both items back into the sleeping area.

It's been less than fifteen minutes since she left, but Cloud is sleeping. He's still clothed in his button-down and pants. He lies on his side facing the window, and for a moment, Tifa thinks he might be pretending, but as she rounds the bed and comes near, she sees he really is asleep. Unsure if she should let him or have him change into more comfortable clothes, she stands beside the bed for a minute. In the end, she sits on the edge and rocks his shoulder.

"Cloud."

It doesn't take long for his eyes to open, and when they do, they're glazed like he was deep into sleep. Tifa feels a little sorry.

"You should change," she whispers.

He nods, slowly sitting up. "I'm so tired." His voice is a mumble.

"Come on." She helps him get out of the bed, not really doing anything other than resting a hand on his arm and tugging forward when it feels like he'll fall.

Tifa watches him drag his feet into the bathroom. She waits a moment before slipping into the bed on the other side. Cloud's footsteps are heavy as he comes back. With a loud sigh, his body crashes on the mattress, jostling Tifa, though she keeps her back to him. His breathing is deafening in the silent room.

"Tifa?" She almost jumps when his knuckles brush her arm but stills her reaction. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Tifa says nothing in answer. She'd like to; she'd like to dispel his fear. But truthfully, the way he said it reminds her too much of what may be to come, and she prefers to feign sleep than to confront that reality once again.

—

The city noise wakes Tifa the next morning. It takes her a while to open her eyes. Disorientation regarding her surroundings hits her first, but the luxury of the room is a quick reminder. The other being Cloud, laying on his stomach, face buried in his pillow.

Tifa blinks several times to chase away the remains of sleep and sits up. A slight pain in her left hand causes a wince, and she can't recall what happened for a moment. She checks it out gingerly, and the accident comes back to her; the skin is pinkish where Cloud gripped her. Nothing too terrible, but it's proof his control needs to be honed.

She looks his way, taking in his even breathing and peaceful expression, something he doesn't exhibit often. When they fell asleep together that time a week ago, Tifa woke up to find him already gone for the day, a short note saying he had to run an errand. It's a little strange to see him like this, serene and next to her first thing in the morning. With a deep sigh, she pushed back the covers and touches her feet to the floor, pushing her thoughts away.

Though Tifa does her best to be quiet as she goes around her morning routine, Cloud is awake when she steps out of the bathroom. Well, on his way to being awake; he slumps over the side of the bed, rubbing his face, and it feels like he'll topple over any second.

"Morning," she says as she throws her pajamas on top of the suitcase.

His answer is a grumble. After a minute, he stands up, grabs clothes, and makes a beeline for the bathroom, avoiding her stare. Tifa watches the door shut behind him. His body language tells her last night's mishap is still fresh on his mind.

She's going through the details of the assignment in her head when Cloud comes out. From the corner of her eyes, she sees him hesitate and fidget.

"I'm starving," he announces, too loud to be casual.

"Let's go, then." Tifa gets up, and his glance strays to her left hand. She does nothing to hide it. Instead, she shrugs and addresses it. "I told you it wasn't too bad."

Cloud looks to the side and stays silent.

"Hey. Cloud." Tifa stands in front of him; still, he doesn't gaze at her. "Don't be childish."

At this, his head snaps forward, and he frowns. "I'm not."

"Pretending it didn't happen won't help you control your ability. Face what happened and think of _how_ you felt as you slipped. You need to remember that to recognize the signs. That's step one." She lifts one finger.

Though he appears disgruntled, Cloud asks, "What's step two?"

Another finger goes up. "Step two is actually working on it. Getting you to master your restraint."

"And how do I do that?"

She tilts her head to the side. "We'll see when the time comes."

Cloud sends her a dubious look but chooses not to object. She's certain he'll leave it at then when he adds, voice gruff and remorseful, "I just hate that I hurt you."

Tifa heads for the door to evade his eyes. "The best thing you can do is remember so you don't do it again."

His footsteps echo hers as he follows her into the hallway. The elevator ride downstairs is on the tense side. Cloud is lost in his head, and Tifa doesn't care to get him out of it for now. She reviews what they know about Scarlet as they walk into the room where breakfast is held. They spend their meal in silence until Cloud pushes his plate away.

"What do you want to do today?"

Scarlet is supposed to arrive later today, and all Tifa has in mind is scouting the hotel for the best ambush spots. She can't quite say that aloud, though.

"Take it easy," she answers with a meaningful look. "Wander around. Relax."

Cloud nods. Once they're done and everything is in order, they leave, walking through the reception area. Tifa tugs on Cloud's arm to get him to slow down. There's a blonde woman at the check-in desk, and Tifa can't be sure from the back, but—

"I'm sorry, we didn't expect you so early—"

"Well, get to it. I'm here now." The woman speaks as if she's used to being obeyed, her voice sharp and absolute. She leans against the counter, and Tifa discerns her features. Her hold on Cloud's arm tightens.

It is Scarlet, and she seems to be alone. There are no bodyguards lingering around, no soldiers at the entrance, though Tifa knows it to be an illusion. Scarlet must have at least one guard disguised as a civilian.

Cloud and her cross the area towards the elevators, Scarlet's increasingly angry voice following them. It's only once they're back into their room that they let themselves speak of it.

"You saw her?" Tifa asks as she paces.

Cloud is sprawled on the couch. "She's hard to miss."

"Seemed like she was drawing attention to herself. If we needed any confirmation it's a trap, this is it. Did you see anyone who could have been with her?"

He shakes his head. "No, but if I had to guess, she's got a female guard with her."

Tifa stops her pacing. "Why?" She'd guessed the same but wants him to elaborate.

"So someone can follow her everywhere." He sits up straight, resting his elbows on his knees. "Easiest place to get her alone would be a bathroom, changing room, something like that. If her guard's a woman, that won't restrict her."

"You think there's more than one?"

"I doubt it. If she has a guard following her, it'll become apparent at some point. If she's got two, it'll just be more obvious since all three will always be in the same room all the time."

"Or," Tifa says with a tiny smile, "there's two of them who alternate schedules so it doesn't become as obvious."

Cloud frowns. "I didn't think of that."

"You'll learn to." Tifa waves her hand around dismissively. It hits her seconds after that she implied he'd be staying around. "So what's the plan?" She asks to cover her sudden apprehension.

"Aren't you in the mastermind in all this?" Cloud's expression shows amusement.

"Well, I want to hear your opinion."

He messes with his hair as he ponders the situation. "It'll be hard, I think. She'll be watched, and she'll give us plenty of opportunities to bait us."

"So?"

He gets to his feet. "We observe at first. Go around the hotel like normal guests on vacation and try to spot her and her guards. We'll talk about what to do after once we know more."

Tifa agrees with a nod. They've got three more days to carry out the mission.

They better get started.

—

"Do you know how to swim?"

Tifa's question startles Cloud, and he turns his head to find her standing with her hands on her hips in the doorway of the bathroom. He spits out toothpaste and rinses his mouth before answering.

"Yeah."

"Good." She nods. "We should try the indoor pool."

There's an agitated gleam in her eyes, but he doesn't comment on it. It's been two days already, and while the occasions to corner Scarlet have been endless, they took none of them. Tifa always deemed them to be too risky, and they both recognize a trap when they see one. The setting also is a thorn in their side as they had guessed.

"Drowning her in public is a little bold," he says as he walks past her.

Tifa rolls her eyes. "You know that's not what I had in mind."

Yeah, he knows—she's too cautious to jeopardize Avalanche this way. He's not, no matter how much she'd like that. It's a work in progress.

"Let's try it," he says.

When they enter the pool area and take in how full it is, Tifa curses. They find two lounge chairs facing the entrance and drop their belongings on them. Tifa sits down as she types on her phone that anxious expression still plastered on her face. Cloud drops on the other chair.

"Yuffie?" He guesses.

She raises her eyes to his, putting her phone away. "Just in case."

A sweep of the room reveals Scarlet in the giant hot tub along with four other people.

"The hot tub could be nice," he says to bring Tifa's attention to it.

She turns around with a frown, clearly not in agreement, but her features change as she notices their target.

She stands up. "I prefer the pool, anyway."

It takes a lot out of Cloud not to react as she grabs the hem of her loose dress and removes it. She's wearing a simple one-piece swimsuit underneath; it's nothing overly revealing, but Tifa doesn't need that to show off. He meant it when he drunkenly told her she was beautiful; add her full-figured body, and it makes for a deadly combination. He glances away to avoid staring at her legs or something else.

Her phone beeps—must be Yuffie answering—and she checks it. Cloud uses the occasion to strip to his swimsuit and quickly walk into the pool. The water is lukewarm, bordering on cold, and it clears his head as he immerses his body. When he emerges, Tifa is standing at the top of the pool stairs. He sighs; he'd been hoping she'd be in the water so he could avoid being distracted.

Cloud swims closer to her, staying submerged to his neck. "Get in."

She drops a foot in and frowns. "It's cold."

"It's fine." A half-lie. He extends his hand. "Come on."

"You'll pull me in," she deadpans.

He thought of it. "No."

"Liar." She goes down a step and takes his hand.

Cloud hesitates for less than a second before tugging her forward; she falls in with a loud splash.

"You're a dick," she mutters as she pushes her wet hair away from her face.

"It's not that cold." Cloud feels his lips curl into a smirk as she sends him a half-hearted glare.

Tifa lifts her chin and swims past him towards the deep end of the pool, but stopping before she can't touch the bottom anymore. He follows and rests against the wall. They've got a perfect view of the hot tub from here. Scarlet is still in.

"Maybe she'll cook in there and spare us the trouble," Cloud whispers. A slap to his arm is his answer, but he doesn't miss her quick smile. "You're thinking it, too," he adds.

"See anyone you recognize?"

Cloud looks around, trying to spot people who have been seen with Scarlet for the past two days. This is a small hotel, and he remembers over half of the guests' faces. He spots two women who might fit the bill. A short blonde reclining on the other side of the room with a book, and a redhead doing lengths in the pool, not far away from them.

If he had to wager, he'd put his bet on the blonde one. She's often been in Scarlet's vicinity so far, and he'd noticed how fit she is, something he'd expect out of a bodyguard.

He's considering the matter when two guys swim close to Tifa and him. Their almost-yells and noisy behavior grate Cloud. As they get near, one of them pushes the other, sending him straight into Tifa.

"Hey, sorry!" The guy turns around with an arrogant smile, and Cloud holds back a scowl.

"Watch it," Tifa snaps.

The guy's smile doesn't waver. "It was an accident. Hey, how about—"

Cloud doesn't care to hear what this tool has to say. Any other day, he wouldn't meddle—Tifa can clearly take care of herself—but why not benefit a little from this assignment's cover and send the dude away?

Without giving it a second thought, he glides his hand through the water and around Tifa's waist, bringing her closer to him and away from the guy. "Fuck off," he tells him with enough indifference to offend. Cloud doesn't wait for a reply. "Come on," he says to Tifa, softening his tone.

They go back into the shallow end. Cloud orients himself so he can spot Scarlet, meaning the two guys stay in his vision. The one who bumped into Tifa glares, and Cloud returns the favor. It feels childish, but he does it anyway.

"Stop it," Tifa says while flicking water at him. Her lips form the ghost of a smirk.

"I'm spying." Good thing he is, he thinks as Scarlet leaves the hot tub. "She's moving."

Tifa doesn't turn around. "Anyone else?"

He keeps an eye on the blonde girl. "Not yet."

Scarlet dries off and gathers her stuff, and heads for the women's changing room.

"No one uses these," Tifa remarks. "She's luring us. Let's wait to see if anyone follows."

"They'll wait until we make a move." One look at Tifa's expression tells him she's considering it. "You'd have to go in alone," he reminds her.

She bites her bottom lip. "I know, but we're running out of time."

"Too risky." He wouldn't mind so much if it didn't imply getting her alone with Scarlet.

"You're right," she sighs.

They stay in the pool until Scarlet reappears; she walks for the exit without a backwards glance. Less than a minute later, the blonde girl Cloud had been watching follows.

"I knew it."

"The blonde?" Tifa thinks it over as they get out of the pool and dry off. "It's true she's been around a lot."

Cloud puts on his shirt. Tifa is already dressed and ready to go. He doesn't notice at first, but she's cradling her left hand. The air rushes out of him as guilt takes over.

"Does it hurt?" He doesn't dare to say it too loud; he fears it would make it even more real.

"Oh." Tifa lets her hand fall at her side. "It's a little sensitive." She shrugs. "I wouldn't say it hurts."

Her request for him to remember the incident flashes through his mind. He gulps. "I know I said it already, but I'm sorry."

She gives him a half-smile. "Don't make that face. It's fine."

As if to demonstrate, she wiggles her fingers. It's an impulse that has Cloud grab her hand and examine it. It _does_ look all right if a little pink in places. With a laugh, Tifa wraps her hand around his and tugs him forward and towards the exit.

"See? Fine," she says over her shoulder.

He doesn't let go—neither does she, and he wonders what the burn in his chest means. Tifa's feelings aren't a secret to him, and sometimes he asks himself if he's not taking advantage of them. Using her as a crutch to keep on feels wrong at times; yet, he can't find another way. Aerith's loss weighs heavily—so do the others that came before. They drag him down and away at night, preventing him from attaining true rest, and every day he grows more tired.

Tifa lets go as they enter the elevator, but his thoughts don't fade. He stands a step behind, and he drinks in the image of her, allowing himself to admit he'd like to close any kind of remaining distance between them. It's physical attraction, yes, but it's also something else he doesn't want to explore, not in the state he finds himself in on most days. He's afraid to lead her on, afraid to make her believe in him when he can't even believe in himself. What could even come out of this, anyway? He's got nothing left to give but himself, and he can't be convinced it's enough.

"Cloud?" Tifa's voice is sweet in the silence of the elevator. "Are you okay?"

He blinks the remnants of his thinking away. Tifa looks at him, worry in her eyes. She has a finger on the button keeping the doors open, and he realizes he's meant to exit. Once they're in the hallway, Cloud heads for their room without glancing back at her. He knew she'd follow him in, and yet he finds himself wishing she hadn't so he could escape her.

"Are you okay?" She repeats after shutting the door. Her bag drops to the floor. Her left hand lifts to play with the necklace at her throat, and he stares at it without meaning to. "I haven't seen you with that faraway look in a while," she adds, soft and hesitant.

He hates everything and everyone for a moment and then curses himself for even thinking that. It's no one's fault but his own if his head is a mess.

"I'm fine," he lies.

She doesn't really believe that—he can see it in her eyes—but she accepts it nonetheless. Without another word, he goes into the bathroom simply because it's the only place he can be alone for now.

He needs this assignment to be over.

Why is he even here, anyway? Helping Avalanche is a waste of his time, and he's known it since the beginning. He accepted since it was the better option at the time. But now he craves the idea of simple revenge, of finding those who wronged him and ending their lives.

His mood swings surprise even him, though he reasons they shouldn't. Isn't vengeance what he's wanted from the start? Still, he gets whiplash from his constant change of mind. Not even fifteen minutes ago, he was enjoying the day, the mission, the company; now, he yearns for all that to disappear. This way he'd be free to pursue what he wants.

Cloud splashes water on his face in a useless attempt at clearing his mind. He doesn't even know what he _truly_ wants. It switches every day, every hour. Stop, he tells himself, stop reflecting on this. First, he needs to kill Scarlet, then he'll see what he should do.

When he goes back into the main room, Tifa has changed and sits on the couch. They spend the day doing their best to stumble on Scarlet, but they don't see for the rest of the day. At time goes by, Tifa grows more stressed, and he grows more silent.

That night, Tifa is restless in her sleep. It takes hours for Cloud to fall asleep; he stares at the ceiling for most of the night, his thoughts returning to assault him. It's the same cruel cycle that leaves him with no answers.

In the morning, Tifa paces. Her hair is pulled in a short ponytail at the base of her neck; tendrils frame her face. She wears a dark blue sweater, and Cloud looks for the right moment to let her know it's inside out. They're supposed to check out at noon at the latest, and it's nine o'clock.

"Let's wing it," he says as he finishes lacing up his boots.

Tifa shakes her head. "If we don't do it properly, we'll be caught."

"We already exposed ourselves by coming here. We should finish the job." He can't believe he's the one advocating Avalanche's plan. "The risks we took will have been for nothing."

"If we wait a little, she'll give us another opportunity…" She trails off.

Cloud snorts. "We _don't_ have time for that. Let's look for her."

"She'll expect us to get desperate."

"If we want something done, we need to act. We can't waste time any longer."

She comes to a halt. "I don't know…"

"I get you're afraid of exposing Avalanche, but this is our best chance."

"And you're not afraid enough," she snaps back. "We still have three hours before the check out limit. We can plan something."

"Whatever," he mumbles as he gets up. "I'm going for a walk."

It's her turn to snort. "Where?"

"Around."

"Don't do anything stupid," she calls out as the door closes behind him.

He rolls his eyes even if she can't see him. Her anxiety is understandable, but it still annoys him when he can see a solution to their problem. Looking outright for Scarlet might end up being messy, but it's their best bet.

Not wanting to return to the room, Cloud wanders the hotel. He walks the hallways, taking the stairs to go down to the ground floor. A quick tour of the reception area and he goes back to the stairwell, heading up. He hesitates as he reaches their floor, but then chooses to continue. The people he crosses path are few.

When he opens the door leading to the fourteen-floor hallway, he freezes. Scarlet's voice drifts in the air, her angry tone cutting through his daydreams. Cloud stays out of sight as he moves towards the origin of her voice. A quick glance around the corner reveals the Board member talking on her phone. There are only two rooms on the floor, and if Cloud had to guess, he'd say the bodyguard occupies the second one. Scarlet turns on her heels, still absorbed in her conversation, and he retreats behind the corner. She keeps on talking, oblivious to his presence.

Cloud fishes his phone from his jeans' pocket; he needs to let Tifa and Yuffie know. He types a simple _14_ _th_ _NOW_ to Tifa. A similar message goes to Yuffie so she knows to deal with the surveillance on the floor. He puts the phone away right as Scarlet nears the end of her call. Cloud takes out his knife and rounds the corner, exposing himself.

Scarlet has her back to him as she strides up and down the hallway. When she barks a goodbye to whoever is on the other end of the line, he takes two steps forward, bringing him in the middle of the hall. Scarlet curses while ending the call; she twists around, stopping in her tracks when she sees Cloud. Her movement slow, she puts her phone back into her blazer's pocket; her eyes don't stray from him. Her mouth contorts in an ugly smile as she spots his knife.

"Well, well, well," she drawls, crossing her arms. "Took you a while."

"Sorry for the wait."

Scarlet lets out a laugh Cloud can only label as cackling. "He's funny, too. Tell me, boy, are you alone?"

It's his turn to smile, eager and ruthless. "I don't need anyone else."

Scarlet cackles again. She moves again, swiftly this time, and before Cloud can react, she has a gun pointed at him; her open blazer reveals a holster. The silencer at the end of the barrel is proof she'd been expecting them.

Cloud doesn't let himself think, only hoping he can jump out of the way in time as Scarlet's finger tightens on the trigger. Right as he makes to move, he hears the stairwell door open, and a blur of black and blue whirls past him to pin Scarlet to the wall. Tifa doesn't waste time; she grabs Scarlet's wrists and wrenches it, causing the woman to cry out and drop the gun. Tifa kicks it away.

"Elena!" The scream tears from Scarlet's throat, the urgency in her voice clear.

The blonde girl from the pool bursts out of one of the rooms, a gun in hand. Tifa is off Scarlet, who crumples to the floor, and back on Cloud's side of the corridor in a second, and they both duck behind different corners. Cloud risks a glance but snaps his head back when he sees Elena's got her silenced gun leveled their way while helping Scarlet to her feet.

"They're fucking Carriers!" Scarlet shrieks.

Across from him, Tifa crouches, ready to spring into action. Cloud nods at her. They don't have the luxury to plan anything; the women could alert Shinra any second, asking for reinforcements. All they can do is attack.

Tifa goes first, running at full speed towards Elena. Not letting himself get distracted, Cloud rounds the corner, heading straight for Scarlet, who is scrambling for her gun. Elena occupied, dealing with Scarlet shouldn't be too difficult.

Cloud reaches her as she takes hold of her gun. Before she can aim it at him, he grabs her wrist, twisting it up and behind her back, forcing her to drop the weapon again. He pushes her away and into the wall. Scarlet glowers at him; her updo is a mess as hair escapes it in disarray.

"We'll fucking end you," she spits before lunging at him.

Though she's got a fighter's spirit, Scarlet doesn't _know_ how to fight; it's obvious as Cloud evades her chaotic attempts at clawing his face. A swift dodge under her arms and a rapid swipe of his knife has her clutching the base of her neck as blood seeps out. Cloud jumps back to avoid getting any on his clothes. The cut isn't deep enough to kill her, and it only fuels her rage. She seethes, her breathing heavy.

Cloud notices the moment she decides to flee, and he acts right as she pounces towards the stairs. She doesn't get far. In a quick stride, he catches up with her and slams her into the wall, head first. Scarlet groans as she stumbles, disoriented from the impact. A sweep of his leg, and she falls to the floor.

"Madam!"

Elena's cry distracts Cloud, and he raises his head in time to see her gun pointed at him. Out of instinct, he uses his ability, focusing on heating up the weapon. With a startled yell, Elena drops it, and Tifa uses the occasion to strike her. Cloud can't help but marvel at how easy using his power was; Tifa's training proved useful after all.

He dismisses the thought, concentrating on Scarlet. She is on her back, trying to roll over to her side to get to her feet. Cloud considers the best way to kill her without getting too much blood on him. With a grunt, he rears his foot back and kicks her into the head, snapping it back. Before Cloud can check if the blow killed her, Elena is on him, her own knife in hand. He steps back to avoid a wide swipe that could have killed him. With a sharp twist of his body, he eludes her following attack and grabs the wrist holding her knife; he tugs it forward, forcing it to extend, and with his other hand, strikes upward into her elbow joint.

Elena screams as her arm breaks, and Cloud kicks her away from him to gain time; her knife tumbles to the floor. Her arm hangs at her side, useless, but the gleam of rage in her eyes lets him know she's not done. She leans against the wall across from him, her breathing labored. Tifa uses the short respite to appear at Cloud's side.

"She anticipates all of my moves," she whispers. "I can't get a hit even at full speed."

Cloud exhales and nods. "I'll distract her," he replies before rushing towards Elena, who throws her body to the side to avoid him. He doesn't immediately notice her good hand drifting to her waist and barely dodges the shock baton she swings at him. He curses; how many weapons does she have?

Despite being weakened, Elena puts up a good fight. Cloud can't get a hit at first; she focuses on evading his strikes. But her broken arm slows her down, and he manages to take hold of her wrist; a harsh wrench disarms her. Cloud uses the opportunity to stab up towards her chin, but Elena bends backwards to avoid it. She drops her body to the floor, pulling Cloud with her, and he has no choice but to let go if he doesn't want to go down.

Elena rolls away, coming up on her knees a meter away. Her short pause costs her as Tifa runs behind her and wraps her arms around Elena's neck, choking her. Though she lashes out at Tifa with her injured hand, Elena can't get out of the hold. Cloud draws closer, signaling at Tifa to let her go so he can finish the job. But she instead tightens her grip until Elena's body slumps forward.

"I don't think I killed her," Tifa says as she lets go of Elena, who falls flat on the floor.

"You didn't," he answers absentmindedly while checking for a pulse and finding a faint one. "You blocked her air flow pretty well, though."

Cloud positions himself so he won't get blood on him and stabs Elena in the jugular. Blood flows out of the wound, seeping into the carpet beneath her body. Both him and Tifa move away. They stand over a coming-to Scarlet. She whines as she tries to sit up against the wall. They know the moment she sights Elena dead across the hall; the haze obscuring her eyes clears into an unmatched fury.

"He'll cut your fucking bitch open," she rasps with a manic cackle. "And you—you fucki—" Scarlet yells as Cloud—who decided he'd heard enough—crouches and stabs down, right above her kneecap.

"Should I pop it off?" He wonders aloud. Scarlet whimpers, and her body trembles.

"Just make it quick," Tifa says from behind him. "We've already made a huge commotion."

"Right." Cloud pulls the knife out. He grabs Scarlet's head, avoiding her nails as she thrashes around trying to scratch his face, and snaps her neck. He makes sure she's dead before pushing her body away from him. "Quick enough?"

But Tifa doesn't find the situation funny. "Come on," she urges him. They head down the stairs, slowing down when they reach their floor. Once in their room, they gather everything as fast as possible.

"Did you text Yuffie?" Tifa asks while sweeping the room one last time to confirm they left nothing behind.

As if on cue, his phone beeps with a new message. Cloud checks it, and relief floods him as he reads it.

"She erased the footage," he tells Tifa, who sighs. "She says she put a loop or something, whatever that means."

"Good. We have to hurry. Tell her to get out as soon as she can. I don't want her stuck in here once they find the bodies."

Cloud types a quick message relaying Tifa's words and puts the phone away. Tifa hands him his coat; he puts it on and grabs the suitcase handle.

"Ready?"

With a final anxious glance at the room, Tifa nods. They both do their best to appear casual as they walk through the hallway, enter the elevator, and then the reception area. Nothing seems amiss; at the very least, the staff isn't on high alert. They're clear, for now.

Tifa handles the check out, paying for whatever leftover expenses they have, while Cloud keeps watch over the area. His body is taut, ready for trouble, but they leave without any. Their stroll to the train station goes by slowly, and it's only once they board the train for Sector 7 that Cloud allows himself to breathe.

"Yuffie checked out," Tifa announces, her voice quiet. She doesn't dare say the rest aloud and hands him the phone instead. Cloud sighs when he sees the _They haven't found anything yet_ on the screen. He gives her phone back, and after that, they don't talk. It's a long ride home.


	17. Chapter seventeen

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay, another two-chapters-in-one situation. I needed to rework my outline. Anyway, here it is.

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

—

17

—

The echo of Barret's booming voice fills through the empty bar area even though the door to the office is closed. The sound makes Cloud wince as he puts on a cap and wraps a scarf around his neck. Tifa and Barret are having an argument though Cloud can't discern what about. If he had to guess, he'd say it's concerning the Scarlet situation and how they handled it. Cloud still can't decide if they did well on that mission. At least they got the job done.

He sneaks a glance around the corner of the stairs to make sure Cid isn't in the bar area. The coast is clear, and Cloud walks to the front door. It's not so much that Avalanche doesn't want him to go outside; it's that they don't like him going out alone. Cid is a vocal advocate of that unofficial rule, and he's stopped Cloud from heading out once or twice before. Cloud knows—he really does—that Cid's actions stem from worry, but it doesn't lessen the annoyance he feels every time. The others don't want him outside on his own for what they call security reasons. They could just admit they're afraid of him running away or betraying them; Cloud would appreciate that better than the typical it's-for-your-own-good bullshit they feed him.

The door creaks as Cloud pulls it open. He freezes, expecting someone to come running. But Tifa and Barret's arguing drowns out the noise, and he's able to slip out unnoticed. His presence won't be missed; they're used to him locking himself in the apartment on most days. But he's getting restless by now—he's been at 7th Heaven for several weeks after all, and he's exhausted the limited entertainment supply of the bar. A stroll will do him some good. The only person who could remark his absence is Tifa, and she works the opening shift which starts in less than fifteen minutes. He's free for a few hours.

It's cold outside, a reminder that winter is at their doors. Cloud shoves his hands deeper in his pockets. He isn't sure where he's going. All he knows is that he isn't crossing a checkpoint; that would be risky for nothing. But the idea is tempting, especially when he thinks back to his home in Sector 6. The musing hurts him; all the memories they made there, good and bad, and all their belongings left to scavengers. No, Cloud decides, he shouldn't lose himself to his memories. Pushing everything aside is near impossible, but he manages, for a while.

He spends two hours wandering around the Sector with no goal in mind. He stops sometimes to check out shops. One of them sells second-hand books, and he hesitates in front. Reading has never been his favorite pastime, but he's developed an appreciation for it in the last few weeks. The doorbell rings as he pushes the door to the store open. The quiet hits him first; there's only a person at the counter, a cat sleeping next to the register, and a customer browsing the sociology section. The cat raises its head, but that's all the acknowledgment he gets.

Cloud walks in between the aisles, uncertain what he's looking for. Tifa's book collection is mostly fiction, but he's growing tired of that. Time for something else. After browsing for a while, it's the history section that draws him in. He skims a few books; they all have a similar pattern of painting Shinra Corp in a good light. Victors do after all write history, he reminds himself while putting back a book detailing the rise of Shinra to its empire-like status.

An old worn volume catches his attention for its lack of title on the spine. Cloud pulls it out. It's fragile, some pages loose and ready to drift to the ground. When he opens it, he blinks. It's a book about the history of another country named Nibel. He's heard of it before, the same way Midgard citizens know about the outside world: in passing and with suspicion. The text absorbs him as he beings reading through; it paints the image of a world he could never imagine. So much so he wonders if it shouldn't go into the fiction section. He looks up and around, anxious about being caught with this book in his hands. But no one even glances his way; the cashier is browsing the net and the other customer migrated to the philosophy shelf.

Cloud focuses back on the text. He flips to the index, searching for a chapter that might give him insight into the treatment of Carriers in Nibel. When he finds it, his excitement crashes. Though the conditions of Nibel Carriers isn't as dreadful as Midgard's, it becomes obvious as he reads on that they still regard them as second-class citizens at best, needing to be registered in a database for 'public safety'. He shuts the book and puts it back, unwilling to read on. Disappointment spears through him as he exits the bookstore empty-handed.

He resumes his walk, heading back for 7th Heaven. It goes by a little faster this time as he doesn't stop as much. When he gets to a playground, he sits on a bench. He's close to the bar, but he doesn't feel like going back inside yet. It's been over three hours since he left and no one seems to have noticed his absence, as he had expected. Cloud leans back into the bench, letting the cold of it seep through his clothes. The small playground crawls with young children accompanied by their parents.

Cloud observes, lost in his head. His thoughts are aimless, skipping from a matter to the next. A kid crying snaps him out of his daydream, and he checks his phone, surprised to see Tifa texted him a while ago. How long has he been sitting there? The digital clock lets him know it's been almost half an hour. Sensing Tifa's worry through her message, he replies with a short _I went to take a walk_ to her _Where are you?_.

As he puts his phone away, Cloud spots a kid leaning against the wall of a nearby building. The kid is older than the children playing, around ten years old. He's dressed in tattered clothes which are too big for his small frame. Cloud gulps; is this how he looked all those years ago?

The kid moves, and Cloud tracks his movement, watching him rifle through a pile of discarded belongings left next to a dumpster. Cloud's phone buzzes; Tifa again, asking for his location. Though a little irritated, Cloud lets her know where he is before looking back at the kid, who suddenly straightened and darted away from the dumpster. Cloud frowns, perplexed until he spots a soldier patrolling their way. He tenses, recognizing the soldier as an officer regulating the Sector 6 checkpoint. While the chances of him remembering Cloud are slim, this isn't something he should risk.

Right as Cloud is about to get to his feet, the soldier notices the kid and heads for him. The little guy looks to the ground, acting like he hasn't seen the soldier. It's no help, though, as the officer speaks with him, and the kid has no choice but to answer. They're too far away for Cloud to overhear; the yelling children playing around drown their voices. But it's easy to guess what's happening, and when the kid runs for the closest alley, the soldier on his tail, Cloud finds himself following.

His heartbeat escalates as he breaches the mouth of the alley, finding the soldier and the kid around a corner. He shouldn't be doing this, he should run in the opposite direction and yet—and yet he can't let this go. Maybe it's because the kid reminds him of himself, or maybe it's because Cloud knows a Carrier on the run when he sees one; in the end, it doesn't matter why. He won't let him be brought in to Shinra.

The officer grips the kid's wrist, doing his best to hold him in place. He's got his back to Cloud, and it's the kid who spots him first, stopping his violent thrashing around. This makes the soldier turn around though he doesn't lessen his grasp.

"What do you want?" The soldier barks at Cloud. The kid tries to use the distraction to wriggle free, but the soldier isn't fooled. "Stay still."

Cloud makes no sudden moves, not wanting to endanger the kid more than he already is. Hands in his jacket's pockets, he stands a couple of meters away. His fingers find the hilt of his knife.

"Just passing through," he says.

The soldier's eyes narrow. "Then pass." He dismisses Cloud, twisting back to the kid. "Would you fucking stop moving?"

"Hey," Cloud calls, taking three steps forward, "he's just a child."

"I thought you were just passing through," the officer snaps.

"Yeah, until I saw you bully a kid."

The man snorts. "This is military business; you should leave."

But Cloud doesn't. His hand tightens around the knife. "What did he do? I didn't know looking through trash was a crime now."

At this, the soldier, clearly fed up, makes a move for the blood testing sensor at his waist. The kid panics and kicks at the soldier's legs, hoping to get free. "He's not just a kid," the officer grinds out. "Last chance, man. Leave."

In a desperate attempt, the kid lunges for the soldier and bites the hand holding him in place. Taken aback, the officer swears and drops his sensor to the ground, but his grasp on the kid doesn't lessen. Seeing his opportunity, Cloud closes the distance between them, whipping his knife out of his pocket. The soldier doesn't see him, preoccupied with the kid; he doesn't have the time to react as Cloud slams his head into the brick wall. His grip loosens enough for the kid to slip away.

When Cloud kills the soldier, it's with fleeting regret it couldn't be helped. He makes it clean and quick for the kid's benefit. Cloud watches the soldier's body slump to the ground; he looks up, surprised to see the kid is still there.

"You okay?" Cloud asks while wiping his knife on the dead man's clothes.

The kid nods, tension in every line of his body. "What do you want?"

At his defiant tone, Cloud lets out a short laugh. "Nothing."

The kid's eyes drift to the discarded blood testing sensor near to the dead soldier. "How…?" He doesn't finish his sentence as if realizing he'd be admitting to being a Carrier to a stranger.

"We gotta look out for each other," Cloud says, doing his best to sound casual. "What's your name? I'm Cloud."

"I'm De—" The kid's eyes widen, and his previous panic resurfaces.

It takes Cloud a second to understand; there are footsteps coming their way. He can only imagine the scene they've painted—two Carriers with a dead soldier in an alleyway. Not good.

"Run," Cloud urges the kid. "Get out of here!"

With a last alarmed gaze, the kid listens, darting deeper into the maze of alleys. Right as he turns a corner, the footsteps come to a halt behind Cloud. He whirls around and lets out a sigh.

"Seriously?" Cloud says, his voice rough with annoyance. "Did you place a tracker on me?"

His words don't faze Tifa, who stands two meters away, arms crossed. She looks cold in her thin turtleneck with no jacket. The wind makes her hair flutter around her face.

"No," she answers calmly like he didn't snap at her, like there isn't a dead body to his feet. "I saw you head in here."

"I don't need a fucking babysitter." His anger is almost irrational, and he can't pinpoint the exact origin. It's as if today's emotions—or the last month's—are catching up with him all of a sudden.

Cloud notices her jaw clenching. "Clearly you do." She gestures at the soldier. "Let's head back."

His initial reaction is to protest, but he realizes this makes him sound like a petulant child. Instead, he turns on his heels and walks in the direction the kid left. He hears Tifa follow him. They exit the alleyway on the opposite side, taking a detour to get back to 7th Heaven.

The atmosphere in the bar is lively for an afternoon. Biggs is behind the bar; he glances up when the door shuts behind them. His eyebrows go up when he spots Cloud behind Tifa, but he keeps his comments to himself. Cloud is only grateful Cid is nowhere to be found.

Tifa goes to talk to Biggs, leaving Cloud behind. His irritation grows at this, and he takes the stairs up to the apartment. Once he's inside, the sight only serves to fuel the negativity in him. He hadn't noticed how much of a jail 7th Heaven is; Tifa following him, not letting him outside alone…

For some reason he can't distinguish, his control slips; he feels it evaporate slowly but surely. Cloud runs a hand over his face, trying to keep it from shattering. Maybe it's the book about Nibel and Carriers, maybe it's the kid who stirred up memories, maybe it's—That's enough, he thinks, enough, enough, enough. He's tired of feeling for today.

All the mako left is hidden in his room. He counts the pills left: two doses. He knows he should keep them for worse situations, not for a tantrum. But he uncaps the bottle and shakes out one pill. After putting the mako back in its hiding space, Cloud goes into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Tifa walks into the apartment right as he swallows the pill. The door shuts quietly behind her.

"What were you thinking?" She hisses.

He'd known her previous calmness had been a front; she hadn't wanted to make a scene outside. But the reality of her anger nourishes his, and he puts the glass down with too much force.

"I wanted to take a walk. I wanted to go outside. I didn't know I needed your permission."

"At least let me know!" Her hand cuts through the air. "I wouldn't have stopped you, but you should have told me."

Cloud comes out behind the counter and into the living room. The mako dulled his ability but not the intensity of his emotions. He still feels as though he'll explode. With jerky movements, he removes his scarf and throws his cap on the couch. The jacket comes next.

"Cloud, you're _wanted_."

"So are you," he spits out. "We all are."

"But they have your face and identity on record." She deflates and comes closer. "I was just worried when I saw you were gone."

Thoughts run lightning-fast through Cloud's mind. That she was outside without a coat—because she was worried for him; that she thought he'd left—like he'd promised her at Cid's garage. But the thoughts get shoved aside. All he sees through them are the implications, the accusations.

"What is there to worry about, Tifa?" Cloud laughs, the sound almost hysterical. "I have nowhere to go. I have nothing left." His voice rises on the last words. He knew it, but saying it aloud makes it all the more real. It swallows any remaining control he had left.

"I do have something to be worried about. You killed a soldier out there! You _know_ they patrol in pairs; what if the other one had seen you?" Her exasperation has ignited anew; she steps back, goes to the other end of the room. "You know better than that."

"He was a Carrier! The kid was one of us." The words burst out, loud and hoarse. Tifa's expression remains impassive at the revelation. Cloud lets out another laugh. "Right, you don't care about that. Can't do anything to jeopardize Avalanche."

He pictures the kid huddled in his worn clothes, sifting through trash, running away. Cloud knows that must have been what he looked like years ago. Perhaps it's part of why he's so angry in this instant. That if it had been him, Tifa wouldn't have helped. He's always expected her to be the kind to lend a helping hand to people like her, but the understanding that her priorities are somewhere else hits him hard.

"You're being unfair," she whispers harshly. "You have no idea how hard I've worked to get where we are, what I've given up."

"So you would have let him be taken in? Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes!" Tifa yells; the pain in her eyes doesn't reach him. "I would have because I can't change the way the world is if I'm dead or behind bars. If I help one kid, there are still a hundred others being hunted." Desperation to have him understand creeps in her voice. "I hate myself for doing it, for not helping them. You were lucky today, Cloud—there was only one soldier. You don't know what it's like facing a dozen of them and needing to make that kind of choice."

"And you do?" His question is met with silence. "Tifa?" Her name has her look to the side, chin raised high. "What did you do?"

"Nothing. There was nothing I could do, and you would understand if you'd been there." Her glare swivels to him, daring him to defy her.

The quiver in her voice is audible enough for Cloud to take note of it. It stops him for a second—but the hesitation vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

"Have you told Barret?" He asks with a bite to his words.

He spies her hands clenching into fists. "Told him what?"

Cloud scoffs. She knows what he's referring to. "That Carriers are being abducted and researched. You've told him so you guys can do something about it." It's not a question—he wants her to confirm his statement and nothing else.

But Tifa crosses her arms, defiant once again, and flees his gaze.

"I can't believe you." His laugh punctuates the syllables, disbelieving, or maybe just disappointed.

"There's something bigger at work," says Tifa, though she sounds as if she's trying to convince him and herself.

Cloud steps forward. They face each other across the coffee table. "We are being _hunted_." He nearly shouts the last word. "And you don't give a shit!"

This breaks whatever restraint she was holding on. "And you're being naïve," she snaps. "I wouldn't have expected that of you."

"Naïve? I'm being _naïve_?"

"Yes! Do you honestly believe years and years of prejudice can be undone so easily? If we take down Shinra, we stop the raids and the experiments, but we can't stop the hate they've drilled into the people's heads! Do you think they will suddenly _admire_ us? Or will they be even more afraid because we'll be free to live as we are, and fear of us is all they've ever known?"

Cloud's mind flies to the book on Nibel, to the Carrier registration. The feeling of vulnerability, of powerlessness overcoming him is brutal. He senses his pulse beat in his neck, like it's trying to rip out of his skin; his chest is heavy, and breathing proves arduous.

"Cloud—"

"Don't," he warns.

She ignores him. "What's _really_ going on with you?"

He hates that she can see through the accusations and vicious words to a deeper part of him he prefers to leave untouched. He hates that she can make him _feel_ so much.

"Who knows anymore." He turns away to hide in his room.

"Cloud, wait—"

Her rapid footsteps follow him, but he shuts the door before she can reach him. A physical barrier in place, he can breathe again. His body is heavy, and he slides against the door to the floor. After a minute, he hears Tifa heading downstairs. The door to the apartment slams shut on her way out, and he winces at the sound.

Cloud thinks back to days ago, to the time they spent at the hotel where everything seemed so much simpler. His head falls back, and he closes his eyes.

What he sees painted behind his eyelids is the hazy memory of Aerith and Zack finding him. It hits him how unclear their youthful faces have become. He cycles through his souvenirs, flipping the pages of his life's album until he realizes in a panic that he's starting to forget.

Allana Fair had a kind smile, he reminds himself, and she cried when Zack explained how they'd come across him in the alley. Richard Fair had dimples and a constant twinkle lighting his eyes; he was the first to tell Cloud he was welcome in their house. And Zack—

Cloud inhales deeply to contain the emotions taking hold. Don't go there, he thinks, don't do this to yourself, don't make yourself remember.

He loses the battle.

—

"What's up with you?"

Tifa sends Barret a half-hearted glare. He doesn't see it, focusing all his attention on the paperwork he's reviewing. "Nothing."

Barret grunts his disapproval but doesn't push her. It won't last long—Tifa counts two minutes before he speaks again.

"You're sulking," he says with a hint of humor.

She shovels food in her mouth as a means to avoid answering. She might kind of be sulking. Barret grabs a few fries from the plate she brought him. He raises his gaze to hers, leaning back in his seat.

"What happened?"

Tifa sighs. It's been a while since she and Barret have had a non-Avalanche related talk. She missed this though her current mood is not a subject she wants to tackle right now.

"It doesn't matter." Cloud's stricken face is all she sees, the ghost of their fight haunting her.

"So you barged in here and moped for an hour for no reason?"

"I'm not moping," she defends herself with no conviction. Barret's heavy gaze is hard to avoid. "Fine. Cloud and I had a fight."

At this, Barret's face becomes blank. "What kind of fight?"

Tifa drops the place on the desk and brings her socked feet on the seat to curl on herself; she rests her chin on her knees. "He did something stupid, and I got mad." She leaves out the part about Carriers. Barret would understand, but the conversation is still too fresh in her mind. She doesn't want to relive every moment.

"And what did he do?"

Barret's questions have a sinister undertone to them. The fear that Cloud would endanger Avalanche is clear in his eyes.

Despite their fight, Tifa finds herself defensive of Cloud's actions. She doesn't want him to get into trouble with the others; it's not what he needs.

"Nothing bad," she lies. "It's the discussion that followed that angered me." Not the full truth, but not false either. She doesn't enjoy lying to Barret.

"The brat does have an attitude problem." Barret looks at her with apprehension. "Don't get too attached, kiddo. You know he's bound to run away."

Tifa stiffens at his words. "I know." She glances to the side in an attempt to be casual. It fails.

Barret lets out a defeated sigh. He rubs his forehead, his features morphing into an irritated mask. "Your heart is too big."

The annoyance is not directed at her, but it hangs in the air between them. It puts her on edge.

"Since when is that a bad thing?"

"Tifa…" In this instant, Barret is every inch her father figure and not Avalanche's leader. His worry is palpable. "You've always wanted to help others. But you've always done it on a big scale; you give every fiber of your heart to a cause. Kiddo, I admire that about you—but this time, you're giving everything to one person."

Tifa blinks back tears. For some reason, she's compelled to say, "Avalanche comes first." Her voice doesn't shake though her insides are a mess.

"I know, kiddo. I know how much you love Avalanche." Barret chuckles, the sound soft and distant. "I could never convince you not to join."

She gives him a half-smile.

"But it's the same issue. You dedicate so much of yourself to the people you love and the things you believe in that you have nothing left."

It's not that Barret's words are a revelation to Tifa; rather, they're a confirmation of something she's known for a while. Still, they hit her hard, and she has difficulty answering coherently. She manages a soft, "I know."

Barret says nothing for a moment, gauging her reaction. Then, he hands her part of the paperwork he was working on before.

"I could use help with the accounts."

Tifa is glad he let go of the subject and accepts the distraction. Barret knows when not to push with her. And after the fight with Cloud, this is not a discussion she feels like exploring. Instead, she scoots her chair closer to work on the desk. They lapse into silence, working on 7th Heaven related matters.

It's late in the evening when Tifa gets back upstairs. She makes more noise than necessary to announce her arrival, but when she enters the apartment, Cloud is nowhere to be seen. She glances toward his room; the door is closed.

Tifa prepares dinner on autopilot. It's only when she serves herself a plate that she realizes she made a meal for two people. She eats while watching the news, telling herself it's to see what Shinra's been up to. When she's done, she cleans up and heads into her room. As she passes by Cloud's door, she hesitates. No sound stems from the inside. In the end, she decides against knocking. She's not sure what she would say, anyway.

Not feeling like sleeping yet, Tifa observes her room as she shuts the door behind her. It's in its usual mess, and for the first time in a while, it aggravates her. On a whim, she tidies up. It's past ten when she's had enough and changes into an old dress to sleep in. But as she gets into bed and is about to turn off the last light, Tifa realizes she's still wide awake. Her mind won't shut off—it's not focusing on anything in particular, but its constant whirring prevents her from sleeping.

Restless, she gets up again, putting on an oversized sweater to ward off the cold. She's contemplating which book to read for the second time when she hears a door opening and footsteps. Her body stiffens as nervousness rears its head. But Cloud pads around the apartment, seemingly going to the bathroom and in the kitchen. Minutes pass, and Tifa relaxes as he keeps away.

Right as she believes she's in the clear, the footsteps get closer, and a knock on her door follows. Tifa bites her lip, debating what she should do.

"Tifa?" Cloud calls out on the other side. And it's his voice that decides for her—he sounds tired and fragile, and she can't turn him away like that.

She doesn't open the door fully and stays in the doorframe. Across from her, Cloud stands hunched, hands in his pants' pockets. He's wearing the same clothes as before.

"Yes?" She says, holding back a wince at the coldness of her tone. That's not how she wanted this to start.

Cloud's eyes won't meet hers. "I heard you move around."

There's a part of her that wants to be petty and play innocent, forcing him to elaborate. But that part gets dismissed in an instant, and instead she opens the door wider. Cloud considers the silent invitation for a second before walking inside.

"You—cleaned up."

Tifa doesn't miss his hesitation. 'Cleaned up' might be generous. "I was bored."

He stays near the entrance, his posture reeking of uneasiness. Tifa walks past him and sits on the edge of the bed, legs crossed. The silence grows, and she debates kicking him out when he moves, heading for the bookcase. He pulls out books, flips through them, then puts them back.

"I wanted to help," he finally says.

She can't see his face from where she is, only the back of his head, and she notices how mussed his hair is as if he ran his hand through it repeatedly.

"You mean the kid."

"I—the kid, he reminded me of—" He cuts himself off.

Tifa takes a guess. "Of Zack?"

To her surprise, Cloud shakes his head. "Of myself. That was me years ago. Hiding from Shinra, scavenging for food. You know how it is. I guess… I was thinking of Zack and Aerith, and how they helped me. And I wanted to do the same." He pauses. "Growing up…" Cloud runs his fingers on the spine of the books. "I wanted to _be_ Zack."

She can see where he's going with this. "And what would Zack have done today?" Her question comes out soft, coaxing.

Cloud turns around to come sit next to her. "He would have helped. The soldier wouldn't have mattered him; he was reckless and loyal and always wanted to do the right thing." Though he doesn't say it, Tifa hears the implied _That's why he died_. "He wouldn't have hesitated."

"Cloud… you know how dangerous what you did was, right?"

He makes a sound halfway between a scoff and a sigh. "I get it could have put Avalanche in danger, but—"

"It has nothing to do with _Avalanche_." Tifa twists to the side so she can see his face. " _You_ could have been taken in or killed. Cloud—" Her breath hitches, and she tries to keep the desperation from seeping in her voice. "I don't get why you have so little regard for your own life, but _please_ be more careful."

A frenzied laugh escapes him. "What's the point in being _careful_? Careful didn't save Aerith or the Fairs." Tifa watches as his eyes become blank and he gets lost to the cruelty of his memories. "I have nothing left. I have no one." That laugh again, and this time he sounds near tears. "I'm alone."

Tifa's heart clenches; the exhaustion and the sadness in his words are hard to bear. She rests her hand on his leg, forcing his attention on her.

"You know that's not true," she says with all the conviction she can muster. "You're not alone. You have Avalanche now." She tries to swallow the next words, but they win, and her voice breaks when she speaks them. "You have _me_."

At first, he only gives her the same blank stare. But then he blinks as if her words pierced his mind. His mouth moves like he's about to speak, and for a moment Tifa thinks he might disagree with her—but he doesn't. She unconsciously tightens her grip on his thigh.

When his hand comes up to grasp the back of her head, she startles, not having seen him move. His touch is light, almost hesitant. Tifa feels dizzy as he rests his forehead against hers; she inhales sharply at the gesture. He doesn't close the remaining distance; neither does she, afraid of what's coming. Her conversation with Barret flashes through her mind. She shouldn't do this—

As if sensing her withdrawing, Cloud's hold strengthens, and he pulls her towards him. She catches sight of his eyes right before they close and he kisses her; there's a wildness to them that has her heart skip a beat. He sighs into her mouth when she responds to him; his fingers tangle in her hair. Something breaks within him, and maybe within her, too. Tifa senses it, like she crossed a point of no return. It makes her forget her fears, her doubts, and emboldens her.

She breaks away, just long enough to climb onto Cloud's lap, straddling him. His lips find hers again as if he's desperate for this not to stop. It cuts through the haze, and the realization of what's happening runs through her mind; he needs a distraction from the echo of his past—he needs to stop thinking, and she can give him that. It makes her pause, and she pulls back an inch to glance at Cloud. His grip on her tightens, preventing her from slipping away further.

Unable to help herself, Tifa runs a hand through his hair. He leans into her touch, eyes closed. When he opens them, she sees she's lost him to his ghosts, but there's still a glimmer of awareness shining through. Cloud goes to kiss her, but she slants back the slightest bit. It's enough to have him hesitate; the blur in his eyes starts to dissolve. He wants this, she realizes—a way to take his mind off everything, and he wants this with her. Tifa makes her decision in a split second. Her hands stray to the hem of her sweater, and she pulls it over her head, throwing it aside. One of Cloud's hands slides up her back, bunching up her loose, sleeveless dress in a fist; the other slips along the skin of her leg.

His breath hitches, and she thinks he'll say something—that they should stop, or maybe they shouldn't—but he only seeks her lips. An arm wraps around her waist, lifting her up as Cloud twists them around so they lie down on the bed. He scoots forward and in between her legs, kissing along the skin exposed by the straps of the dress that fell down her shoulders. They're open-mouthed kisses, scrapes of teeth against her collarbones, and Tifa remembers the wildness she saw in his eyes. He's lost control over his emotions, yet there's no unbearable warmth emanating from him; the thought that he must have taken mako comes unbidden and disappears as quickly.

The unrestrained need bleeding from his rough touches fuels Tifa. _You have me_ , _let me give you what you need_ ; she keeps the words to herself. She rolls them over, pushing Cloud on his back. He grabs hold of her thighs, sliding his hands up and under her dress. Feeling restricted, Tifa shrugs her arms out of the straps; the fabric of the dress pools at her waist. The stare Cloud gives her is dazed, but she doesn't let him breathe, diving to capture his lips in a fevered kiss. She makes out the ghost path of his fingers along her spine, the gentleness of it so contrastive to his sharpness. They trail up her back and into her hair, gathering the short strands at the base of her neck. The way he grips her reminds Tifa of a drowning man, and it only intensifies her own wants. She glides her hands under his shirt, clawing at his chest with her blunt nails, and he bites her bottom lip in answer. She lets out a breathy moan; the hand in her hair clenches and tugs, and another sound escapes her, growing louder as his other hand pushes her underwear aside to skim over her.

Tifa pulls up, forcing Cloud to release her hair. He sighs as she unbuttons his jeans and strokes him through his briefs, grunting when she applies more pressure. His gaze focuses on her for the first time, distracting Tifa. She's about to call out to him, fully bring him to her, but his name dies on her lips in a gasp as he thrusts two fingers inside her. The next moment is all frantic caresses and hard strokes and Tifa feels herself build up until she can't take it anymore and she mouths his name against the skin of his neck as she comes with a soft whine. Cloud groans as her teeth graze his throat; his fingers slip out of her, his hands coming to grip her legs.

In between desperate kisses, Tifa pushes down his briefs. Cloud throws his head back as she slides unto him, and his grasp on her draws taut to the point of pain. She reaches down to his hands, coercing them to relax. She watches him as she rocks over him—though his eyes are still nebulous, they are hers only. Cloud holds her stare, his breathing heavy; she sees the moment he comes to and truly takes her in, half-naked and riding him. His awareness heartens her—she leans forward to kiss him, laving her tongue against his lips and claiming the whispered _Tifa_ breaking free from him.

Cloud sits up, taking her with him; his arms come around her, one hand splayed on her back, the other buried in her hair again. He moans in her mouth as she sways faster, carrying them both towards a breaking point. Her hands on his neck, she senses the crazed rhythm of his pulse on the tip of her thumbs. His lips glide down to her cheek, to her jaw, to her throat until his face is hidden in her neck.

The fierceness of his embrace is a reminder of his desperation, and it spurs Tifa on. Her fingers stroke the nape of his neck, combing through the mess of his hair. Cloud sighs into her shoulder; an arm comes to enfold her waist, bringing her closer and closer. The proximity makes it hard for Tifa to move over him—it doesn't matter, she thinks, he's already there, and so is she. The hand on her back stiffens, grasping at her bare skin, and his breathing turns into pants. She comes first; the muscles of her thighs tense, and her entire body clenches around his as she lets out a stifled cry. It only takes seconds for Cloud to follow. In a swift twist, he flips them around, and Tifa's back hits the bed right as he pulls out. He groans into the side of her neck as he comes over her abdomen.

The sound of their loud breathing fills the room. Tifa doesn't move, unsure of her next move now that the haze is dissipating. It's Cloud who acts first; he draws himself up slowly.

"Sorry." His voice comes out hoarse. "I wasn't thinking…" He trails off, staring at her stomach with shadows in his eyes.

"It's okay," she says as she pulls herself up on her elbows. "I didn't think about it either."

He nods and looks to the side. One of her legs slides against him as she sits up, and he gulps.

"Tifa—"

She won't let him finish. In a swift move, she steps off the bed; her dress falls at her ankles and she kicks it away. He doesn't protest when she grabs his hand to get him to stand up.

"Come on," she murmurs. "We should get cleaned up."

Taking the lead, she walks them into the bathroom and runs the water in the bath. When she turns around, Cloud is right behind her, leaning against the washing machine. His eyes stray to the floor as she closes the short distance between them. Tifa doesn't speak; she strips him with slow movements, and he follows along in silence. His clothes pile up at their feet. She turns off the water when the tub is full enough and guides him towards it.

"Get in."

Cloud does, and he sighs once submerged. He finally glances her way, watching as she adds her underwear to the discarded clothing, and steps inside. She sits across, resting against the side of the tub. The bath is tall, big enough for two people to be comfortable, and this allows Cloud to have his space. She can tell he needs it right now.

Tifa washes in silence while Cloud lays his head back on the tub and stares at the ceiling. It gives her a jump when he suddenly slides under the water, immersing his head and staying there a few seconds. He emerges and runs his hands over his face and hair. The urge to ask him if he's all right is strong, but she resists, knowing now is not the right time.

Minutes pass and the water is becoming lukewarm; Tifa considers getting out when she spots Cloud moving from the corner of her eyes. Turning her head to face him, she holds in her surprise as he reaches out to rub a strand of her hair between his fingers. He doesn't speak, only looks at her with his mouth slightly parted like he's contemplating something. The mist has lifted from his eyes. He lets the strand fall down, and Tifa feels self-conscious. It's not a secret that Cloud loved her long hair.

"It suits you," he says, drawing his hand back to his side. Roughness still colors his voice.

Tifa's reflex is to deny it. "Not really."

He hums. "I like it."

She flees his gaze. "I liked it better before." Her fingers dip into the water, sketching forms on the surface. "Whatever. It's just hair; it grows back." Bitterness seeps in her tone.

"Well…" He shrugs as if to say 'you're right'. "It makes sense you had to cut it."

It hits her all of a sudden—the memories of her arrest, of her escape, and her throat constricts. Perhaps it's because she is more vulnerable right now, but she allows herself to think of what happened, something she'd mostly avoided before. The emotion that overwhelms her is unsparing, bringing tears to her eyes. Guilt, she realizes, it's guilt.

Cloud senses the change in her mood. "Tifa?" He says, tentative.

Unable to face him, she twists around, showing him her back. Tears escape and she wipes them at once. She jumps when his fingers graze the skin near her shoulder blade.

His hesitation is clear when he asks, "What happened?"

And though she'd rather keep this to herself, it comes out anyway. "I just—I wish I had done something. If I had acted sooner or made a plan, maybe I could have…"

Cloud retracts his touch, her words sinking in.

"I could have—" She exhales shakily as more tears fall. "If I had grabbed her and ran, this wouldn't have happened." The truth tumbles out, quiet, "I could have spared you this pain."

Silence follows, and it only serves to make Tifa nervous. She shouldn't have admitted this. As she goes to tell him to forget about it, the water sloshes around her, indicating movement. She bites her lip, expecting him to get out of the bath. But he wraps his arms around her shoulders. Tifa can't help the short, muted sob that bursts out. Cloud lowers his forehead on her shoulder, and she feels the unevenness of his breathing.

"I'm sorry," she whispers after a minute, wiping away the remaining tears.

Cloud's sigh caresses her skin as he draws back, and steps out of the tub. Tifa is getting out when he speaks, voice clear but with a hint of regret.

"There's nothing you could have done."

Tifa doesn't answer; she isn't sure what to say. They dry off, and there's a moment of awkwardness as they stand in the bathroom. Cloud clears his throat and disappears, coming back seconds later with clothes. He hands her one of his shirts, and Tifa thanks him. It's a little big on her, but it doesn't swallow her; Cloud isn't a burly guy, and he's not much taller than she is.

When she goes into her room, Cloud follows wordlessly. Tifa puts on clean underwear; she turns around to see him staring at the bed with an indecisive expression.

"Your hair is still wet," she says to distract him.

With a push, she gets him to sit on the bed and snatches the towel from his hands. She rubs it through his hair; he closes his eyes. A shiver overtakes him—dressed in shirts and underwear, they're reminded of the coldness of the apartment.

Though she's done with toweling his hair, Tifa keeps on combing through it. She keeps her voice soft as she asks, "Do you remember the first night you came to 7th Heaven?"

Cloud frowns the tiniest bit. "Yes."

Tifa rakes a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. "Do you regret it?"

His features transform into blankness. Damn it, Tifa thinks, she knew she shouldn't have asked. Cloud sighs, the sound loud in the silence, and drops his head on her stomach, as if it's too heavy for him to hold up anymore.

"I don't know," he says, his voice muffled by the fabric of her shirt.

Tifa tries not to let his words affect her—she understands what they mean and that they have nothing to do with her. But there's a part of her mind that resents them, and she hates herself for it. Her reaction is a whispered reminder that her feelings might be getting out of her control.

"Let's sleep." Tifa puts the towel away and climbs into the bed on the other side of Cloud, who lies on his back. She rolls on her side, facing the wall, trying to dismiss her thoughts to fall asleep. The bed creaks as Cloud moves, pulling the covers higher over them.

She hovers between sleep and awareness, too anxious for true rest, too tired to stay up. At some point, she twists on her belly, and the movement jostles Cloud.

"Tifa," he breathes out.

She bites her lip, feeling bad about waking him. "Go back to sleep."

His hand fumbles on the mattress. "You're far," he mumbles.

She scoots closer; his arm comes to encircle her back, a comforting weight that grounds her. Already asleep again, Cloud sighs softly, and it ruffles her hair. Tifa closes her eyes.

—


	18. Chapter eighteen

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 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

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18

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When Cloud opens his eyes the next day, it's as if he's emerging from a dream. The room he's in is both familiar and alien—too big and too bright to be his own, yet he's been in here before. It doesn't hit him all at once, but piece by piece. He runs a hand over his face, a futile effort to dissipate his pounding headache. He had a fight with Tifa, that much is clear, but everything that comes after is muddled. They had a talk later that night, and then—

Cloud glances to his left, knowing what he'll see. Tifa lies on her belly, her face snuggled in her pillow. He exhales as images of last night overwhelm him. His headache intensifies, and he winces at the realization that the pounding isn't his head—it's the sound of stomping footsteps coming closer. Cloud has no time to react before the door to the bedroom opens to reveal an annoyed Yuffie.

"Hey, isn't it about time you—" Yuffie chokes on her words as she spots Cloud. Her eyes widen in an almost comical way that would have him snort on another day. He's a little impressed by how fast she recovers. "Oh, hi, Cloud."

The noise wakes Tifa, who groans as she raises her head. She doesn't see Yuffie at first; Cloud catches the beginning of a smile before it dies at the sight of the girl in the doorway.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" Tifa sits up on her knees.

"I thought you were dead or something. It's almost noon." Yuffie rests both hands on her hips.

"Wait. Rewind." Tifa rubs her forehead. "It's noon _?_ And how did you get inside?"

Yuffie purses her lips. "Barret."

" _Barret_ gave you his key?"

"Well, maybe he didn't exactly 'give' it. Hey, I knocked before using it."

So that was the pounding he'd first mistaken for a headache.

Tifa blows out an irritated sigh. "That doesn't give you the right to barge in."

Yuffie shrugs. "I totally knew it, by the way."

"Knew what?"

"Uh, you and Cloud? What else?"

Getting fed up, Cloud glares at Yuffie. "Now that you know she's not dead, can you get out?"

"Relax, dude." Yuffie rolls her eyes. "Didn't you just get laid?"

"Yuffie!"

"What?"

Tifa points at the door. "Get out, give Barret his key back, and keep your trap shut."

"So bossy," Yuffie mumbles. "But I want to collect my fifty bucks from Biggs."

"You _bet_ on my private life?"

"Well, yeah?"

Cloud bites his cheek to keep in both his laughter at Yuffie's attitude and his annoyance at the situation.

"Yuffie…" Tifa warns.

"All right, all right." Yuffie turns on her heels. "I'll shut up."

She slams the door on her way out, and they can hear her heavy footsteps all the way downstairs. Cloud twists his head to look at Tifa. He's about to ask her something—he's not even sure what—but her angry expression stops him. She doesn't spare him a glance as she gets down the bed and heads for her closet.

"I can't believe her," mutters Tifa.

Cloud sits up, regretting it when he sees Tifa changing clothes. He can't help it—he watches as she discards the shirt he lent her, as she slips on new underwear. Her back is to him the whole time. The casualness of the gesture strikes Cloud; not in a bad way, he concedes. It's more that he finds the situation delicate. He has no idea how he should act; Yuffie's surprise entrance didn't leave him time to absorb last night's events.

Tifa rummages through her overflowing mess of a closet. Cloud keeps his eyes on her as she takes out a pair of black jeans. Should he keep the conversation going?

"Do you think she'll tell the others?" He ends up asking.

She puts on the jeans as she answers. "No. She's a brat, but she keeps her word." Tifa sighs. "No offense, Cloud; I like keeping my life private."

It takes Cloud a moment to reply; Tifa in high-waisted jeans and a bra might be his favorite look on her, and his mouth dries up when she turns slightly to face him.

"I understand," he says, trying to sound unaffected.

Tifa finishes dressing, throwing on an oversized white sweater that slips down a shoulder. She comes to sit on his side of the bed to lace up her boots.

It's on the tip of Cloud's tongue to ask what she expects from him now. But he's not sure he wants to know, not sure what he even wants out of this. Maybe time to ponder. As Tifa stands up, it hits Cloud that she hasn't looked him in the eye since Yuffie left.

"I'll see you later," Tifa says as she walks to the door.

Damn it, Cloud thinks, damn it, maybe avoidance wasn't the best option. What should he say to her—or should he say nothing and take the easy way out?

"Tifa." Her name leaves him before he can decide.

She halts, her head inclining the slightest bit towards him to show she's listening.

Cloud scrambles for something to say, something that'll put her mind at ease—but he comes up short. In the end, all he says is, "We're okay, right?" And as it tumbles out, he knows it was the wrong choice.

But Tifa doesn't skip a beat like she expected him to say those exact words. "Of course."

She leaves without glancing back, and it puts a bitter taste in Cloud's mouth. He falls back on the bed, covering his face with his hands. The images that assaulted him when he woke up come back—Tifa riding him with her dress pooling around her waist; Tifa undressing him in the washroom; Tifa vulnerable and crying in the bath. They all make his breath hitch as they flash in his mind. A part of him wishes he didn't remember, and he hates how conflicted his emotions have become.

Cloud drags himself out of Tifa's bed, dismissing his thoughts for now. He's not ready to draw any conclusions or even to actually reflect on what happened.

When he enters the bar area twenty minutes later, his eyes find Tifa behind the counter. She doesn't notice him, busy with a customer. After a while, he realizes she's avoiding looking his way. The irritation he feels at that startles him, but he rationalizes it soon enough.

That's how the next days go for him. Tifa dodges him the best she can without being too apparent to others, and it nurtures his annoyance. On the fourth day, Barret calls a short meeting late at night. Not everyone is there—Jesse is out, and Biggs is helping a scary woman named Sylvie man the bar. Cloud is the first in the Avalanche room; he snoops around out of boredom. Tifa arrives alone minutes later. She stares at him, not moving from her spot at the base of the stairs, and he returns the favor, waiting for her to break the silence. She recovers quickly and gives him a smile, but stays on her side of the room.

"Hey, I haven't seen you all day," she says.

Cloud has to hold in the sneering _You haven't looked for me_ threatening to spill out. It sounds childish and mocking, and he doesn't want to make the situation worse than it is. Still, he can't mask his vexation fast enough; it doesn't escape Tifa's notice, and her smile dims.

"I was busy," Cloud replies as he leans against the wall and shoves his hands in his pockets to seem casual. "Cid needed help at the garage."

It's not a lie; one of Cid's employees quit a week ago, and since then Cid has enlisted Cloud's assistance twice. He can't do much, honestly, and most of the time he feels useless. His theory is that Cid is doing this to keep him occupied. Cloud can appreciate the intention. Barret isn't too fond of the idea; he doesn't like Cloud crossing Sectors often, but Cid reassured him it was safe if he drove him to and back. So far, they haven't encountered trouble.

Tifa nods in answer. He waits for her to carry on, but silence prevails. And Cloud has had enough. His feelings are still a mess; he's not ready for anything, not being in the right frame of mind—that he can admit now. But he misses Tifa, misses their talks and their familiarity. Since Aerith died, she's been everywhere, and he's not sure how to live his daily life without her. He should probably learn to, sure, but deep down he knows that without Tifa he'll slip back into his dark spiral. And he's not certain that's something he wants.

When he strides towards her, Tifa backs up a step out of surprise, bumping into Yuffie's desk. Cloud stops a foot away from her, and he can see his presence crowds her.

"I've had enough," Cloud says. He's doing his best to keep his voice even, but to his dismay, it comes out harsher than intended. "You can't avoid me forever."

"Cloud—" Tifa swallows the rest of her sentence.

He cuts to the chase. "What do you want?"

There's a moment where she looks perplexed, and then the meaning of his words sinks in. Her eyes stray to the side. He didn't want to ask point blank, hadn't planned on it. But by now, he doesn't know how else to reach her.

As it became obvious she'll keep silent, Cloud pushes. "I don't like the way we've been since then. Stop shutting me out. Please," he adds softly.

He can't tell if it's the tone he used or the words themselves, but Tifa draws herself taller and there's a newly ignited fire in her gaze.

"What do _you_ want?" She asks.

It doesn't take him by surprise, not really; he anticipated that something akin to this would come up.

"I don't know what's best—"

"That's not what I asked." Tifa crosses her arms, brushing against his chest.

What does he want?

He thinks back to his quiet life with Aerith; to waking up in a world without her. He thinks of the Captain walking away; of the Carrier kid running off in fear. He thinks about Tifa grounding him; about Cid offering him a place to stay. He thinks of revenge and bloodlust and loneliness.

Does he have a real answer for her?

"Tifa…"

She stares, expectant.

"I don't—"

They both jump when the door leading down opens and a cascade of footsteps follows. Cloud moves to Tifa's side, putting some distance between them. Right before Barret and Yuffie appear, Cloud catches Tifa's downhearted expression, which disappears so fast he doubts he even saw it.

The meeting starts once Wedge and Cid get there; it's more of an update on their progress than a planning session. Since Tifa and he killed Scarlet, Shinra has doubled security measures around the Tower and increased the detail on prominent employees. Not that they have a lot of Board members left.

Barret wraps the meet-up after twenty minutes; Cloud turns to Tifa, only to find her already going up the stairs. His annoyance resurfaces, and he ignores Yuffie's pointed glare as he exits the room.

Tifa is at the bar when he emerges from the break room. Fed up, Cloud goes into his room, slamming the door behind him in an immature impulse. She wants space? He'll give her space, he thinks with bitterness.

Two days later, when Cid enlists him to run an errand, Cloud seizes the opportunity to get out. The atmosphere in the apartment grows tense by the hour, and he can't truly escape as long as he stays within the walls of 7th Heaven.

They're coming back from the nearby hardware store when Cid breaches the topic.

"So, kid, the fuck is with you and Tifa?"

Cloud's initial reaction is to deny, but he quells it. "I'm not sure," he admits.

Cid raises his eyebrows. "What, you're actually gonna talk about it?"

The look Cloud sends him is scathing, but it only makes the man chuckle. "I don't have to."

"Aw, come on, kid. You know I like my gossip." Cid elbows him despite the heavy bags he's carrying.

"Something happened and now she's ignoring me." Cloud exhales. "I tried to have a talk with her, but I think I just made it worse."

Cid laughs, the sound loud enough to attract people's attention. It's a Thursday evening and the streets are packed. Not enjoying the scrutiny, Cloud glances over the crowd with uneasiness while Cid carries on babbling. From the corner of his eyes, he spots a flash of red, and his body becomes taut. It can't be—

"Kid! You listening?"

Cloud startles at Cid's shout, and he loses sight of the redhead. Ignoring Cid, he twists around, trying to find the man again—but he's nowhere to be seen as if he was never there. His heart beats fast enough to scare him.

"Cloud!"

He focuses on Cid. Worry transforms Cid's face. "Are you all right? It's like you saw a ghost."

That's when Cloud notices he dropped the bags he'd been carrying; the content is strewn all over the sidewalk. He doesn't pick them up, not yet. It still feels like his heart will burst out of his chest, and blood fills his mouth; he bit his tongue. His hand comes up to grasp his shirt right over his heart as if it would assuage the constricting pain.

"Yeah," he croaks. "I think I did."

Cid lands a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Hey, hey, breathe in, kid." He waits for Cloud to comply. "All right. What happened?"

Cloud crouches to clean up the mess he made. "I thought I saw someone I used to know." Flashes of James with his tropical shirts and useless sunglasses dance in his mind. "Someone who's not real."

Though Cid doesn't hide his confusion, he doesn't press Cloud to elaborate. The walk back to 7th Heaven is filled with mindless chatter from Cid and wordless answers from Cloud.

It could have been anyone; that's what Cloud reminds himself. Reno isn't the only citizen with red hair, and it's not like he got a good look at the man's face or clothes. But if it was Reno… Fear grips him; does it mean Reno found him? No—he would have made his presence more obvious to Cloud. Right? In the end, logic wins, pushing his panic aside, and decreasing his edginess. By the time they enter 7th Heaven, his composure is back.

The moment they step inside the bar, Cid's phone shrills its aggressive ringtone. Cloud hates that sound; he leaves to drop the bags in the back store. Two minutes later, a red-faced Cid joins him.

"Someone tripped up the alarm," he spits out while throwing his bags on the table. "Stupid fuckers."

Cloud takes a seat—the only seat, really—and leans the chair back. "At the garage?"

Cid nods. "They were closing the place and fucked up." He blows out a breath. "I have to go. Keep my stuff, I'll come to pick it up tomorrow."

"Yes, sir." Cloud salutes.

Biggs comes in right as Cid exits; he has to dodge to avoid being barreled into, and he glares at the retreating man.

"What's up with him?"

Cloud shrugs. Biggs isn't his favorite person in Avalanche—probably the last one on the list—and he doesn't owe him any explications. When it becomes obvious Cloud won't tell him, Biggs grunts; he closes the door and turns to face Cloud. Great, the guy wants to talk.

"Can I help you?" The question comes out cold.

Appearing unaffected by Cloud's tone, Biggs nods, though he adds nothing.

Cloud tips back the chair further. "Well?"

After a beat, Biggs takes the plunge. "What are you doing tonight?"

That's not what Cloud expected, and it takes restraint to maintain the equilibrium of the chair and not fall flat on his back.

Biggs doesn't give him time to speak. "I want to check out something, but I can't go alone. Thought you could come with me."

"Okay… And what would we be checking out?"

"A club. It's not far away, about a twenty minutes walk from here. There's supposed to be an anti-Shinra meetup tonight."

The legs of the chair thud on the ground; Cloud rests his elbows on his knees. "Sounds like a useless risk to take."

But Biggs shakes his head, and the determination in his eyes stuns Cloud. It's the first time he sees this serious side to Biggs.

"Look, man, this is our chance to see how far we've reached people. It's not just anti-Shinra, it's pro- _us_. These people support Avalanche." Biggs raises his hands, the gesture placating. "All I want is to check it out."

Uneasy, Cloud rubs a hand along his cheek. "Why me?"

"It's going to be more efficient if I'm not alone. We can bring back more intel."

Cloud gives him a skeptical glance, not buying the explanation. "You could have asked Wedge."

Biggs rolls his eyes. "All right. I want to bring Tifa. She'll go if you ask her."

At this, Cloud stiffens. Maybe she would have a week ago, but now… The reminder of their closeness and fragile circumstances sours his mood. Still, he considers it. If all Biggs wants is to observe, he sees no harm in that. He knows the idea will interest Tifa.

"I can try," he ends up saying.

Biggs grins. "Fuck yeah, let's do this."

Within minutes, Tifa is in the room with Cloud. She stands across him, arms crossed. Biggs stayed outside.

"What's up?" She asks with too much nonchalance for it to be real.

The room is small and packed, and she's close enough he could reach out and touch her if he wanted to. He doesn't. Instead, he keeps seated while he relays Biggs' idea. Once he's done, Tifa has her thinking expression on.

"Could be worth it," she reflects aloud. "We need the public on our side starting now, or we won't advance."

Cloud gets up. "Are you sure both of you can go, though? Who's gonna take care of the bar?"

She waves a hand in the air. "Sylvie and Wedge."

He almost asks since when Wedge is a bartender but reels it in; he doesn't actually care. "All right, let's go then."

But both stay still. Tifa blocks the exit; he could bypass her, but he doesn't think it's a good move in the enclosed space. The artificial light shines on her red velvet crop top, attracting his eyes, and Cloud drinks her in; it makes him remember things he shouldn't considering where they stand with each other. Her hair brushes against her shoulders; the slight wave to it is a telltale sign she tied it up all day. He snaps out of it as his eyes wander down along her body, and he sees she's wearing the same black jeans she put on the morning after. It's a small detail in the ensemble of her appearance, but it takes him back to a week ago, and now's clearly not the time.

Tifa pretends she didn't notice his sweeping stare, but it's obvious she did. The hand running through her hair and the drifting gaze give her away.

"What were you going to say?"

Cloud knows she's referring to their interrupted conversation on the night of the Avalanche meeting. Still, he asks, "When?"

"Two days ago."

His pulse races. "I—"

But insistent knocking cuts him off, followed by Biggs yelling, "Are you guys coming or what?"

Cloud holds in a frustrated groan. Is this what they call fate? He wonders if they'll ever get to have this talk. Tifa looks at him like she wants him to continue despite Biggs' impatience, but Cloud doesn't like this. He'd prefer it if they weren't rushed. It's not as if this can't wait a few hours.

"I'll tell you when we come back."

Defeat seeps out of Tifa at his words, but she doesn't protest. Biggs sighs dramatically when they leave the back store.

"Ready?"

Cloud shrugs on a leather jacket Cid gave him over his hoodie. He'll be a little cold on the walk there, but he'd rather not suffocate once inside. Tifa goes to get her own jacket, and when she comes back, the three of them head out.

The trek to the club is relaxed; Biggs and Tifa take care of conversation. On his end, Cloud watches his surroundings, only half-listening. That's how he recognizes the area they're passing through; it's where he thought he saw Reno. The idea has him on edge, but they soon move on to a busier street. Cloud exhales, releasing the tension that had taken hold of him.

The club is identifiable by the short line-up at the entrance. As they wait to be let in, Cloud fiddles with his phone, checking an online thread out of restlessness; people discuss trivial topics, aware Shinra monitors the net. Here and there, though, Cloud spots risky speculations regarding the future of the Corp. The majority are guesses in the dark, and Cloud grows bored until a popular post captures his attention: 'You cannot make the revolution. You can only be the revolution #rise'. It seems to be a quote though Cloud can't identify it. The replies below are a mix of praise and inflammatory comments, the words 'terrorists' and 'revolutionaries' popping up over and over. Cloud pockets the phone, not willing to delve further.

Right on time, too, as they are ushered into the club. Cloud isn't sure what he expected—something small, perhaps. But the place is big and crowded; on the far end of the room, two guys and a girl rap and sing about regrets. A bar lines the right side, and Cloud makes note to stay clear of that area considering the number of people.

It's warm, something he had foreseen, and he unzips his hoodie in the hope it'll cool him. Next to him, Biggs bounces on his toes.

"We should split up," he shouts over the music.

Tifa's arm shoots out, preventing Biggs from running off. Someone bumps into Cloud, propelling him closer to her.

"Wait." She tries not to shout but quickly realizes she doesn't have a choice. "Something's off."

Biggs throws her an are-you-crazy glance but listens to her. Cloud sweeps the room with his eyes, and it doesn't take long for him to catch on to what Tifa meant. It's a subtle difference, but the crowd appears divided; Cloud guesses a third are regular partygoers while the others must be here for the gathering. They stand huddled closer to the bar area and near the entrance. It's little details, like the furtive looks they give each other and the low level of enthusiasm, that spell out their intentions. Nervousness hangs over that crowd; Cloud guesses it has to do with the illegal nature of their assembly. His gaze rounds the room again, and that's when he sees him.

Before his brain can even register what it could mean, his body moves in the direction of the emergency exit. Cloud thinks he hears his name being called out but there's no way to be sure with all the noise. Doesn't matter, anyway—he won't let him disappear this time.

Cloud's heart drums in his ears. He didn't imagine him earlier—Reno stands near the emergency exit, close to the end of the bar, wearing a tropical shirt beneath a distressed denim jacket. For a moment, the sight sends Cloud back to a time when James was just James, and they both pretended they weren't friends. But James was never real—Cloud has to remember that.

He's over halfway into the room when his brain catches up with his actions, and he halts abruptly. If this is a sympathizer gathering and Reno is here—

The thought crosses his mind right as the music cuts off and someone runs on the stage, grabbing the mic from the girl. Even from afar, Cloud can discern the panic etched on the guy's face.

"They're coming!"

He doesn't have the time to say anything else; a blaring noise resounds through the club, accompanied by yells. Cloud freezes as soldiers flow in from the opened emergency exit.

Within seconds, hysteria takes over. Cloud doesn't have the time to register everything that's happening around him-he notes more soldiers swarming the entrance, preventing people from escaping; he understands the army is trying to surround them, and that he needs to break out of the circle as fast as possible.

But he also sees Reno walk away through the emergency door.

People run past Cloud, and he gets swallowed by the current of the crowd. Still, he stays rooted in his spot for what feels like an eternity but can't have been over five seconds. Cloud senses it, senses the call for vengeance howl within him. Reno is _right there_. The chaos could help Cloud go after him, couldn't it?

A piercing scream followed by gunshots breaks his focus, and the pandemonium catches up with him. He twists around to tell Tifa and Biggs to stay on him—but they're not there, and that's when genuine fear overwhelms him.

Where did the gunshots come from—closer to the entrance from the fights breaking out over there—isn't that where he left her? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck—not again, he thinks, please not again. Cloud pushes people out of his way as he makes towards the spot he last saw them. But it's impossible to know for sure, and as the violence between the citizens and the soldiers escalates, the realization he's lost her—that he left her behind—flares through him. His movements wild, Cloud turns on his heels, heading into the heart of the frenzied crowd. Where is she, damn it, damn it, _where is she_ —

Someone shoves him hard in their panic, sending him flying into another person. They tumble to the ground, and Cloud doesn't bother checking if the other guy is all right—he needs to get up and fast if he doesn't want to get trampled. Easier said than done as people run in all directions, disregarding others. Cloud is back on his feet when he gets pushed again. This time, he keeps his balance—but comes face to face with a soldier pointing a rifle at him, his finger on the trigger.

It's instinct and years of survival that save him. Cloud thrusts his right hand palm out, pushing the barrel away from him, and grabbing the gun with his other hand. He kicks the man in the crotch and wrenches the weapon out of the bent soldier's grip. There's a split second where Cloud debates shooting him. In the end, he settles on knocking him out with the stock of the rifle and shoving the gun into the nearest civilian's hands. A mistake, maybe, but there's no time for him to lose.

All this led him to the left edge of the club, close to the stage. Cloud throws a brisk glance in that direction, almost dismissing the two people crouched at the base of the stage, partially hidden behind the short stairs. But the flash of ruby red velvet stops him in his tracks. _There_.

Their position allows them some respite from the chaos and a modicum of protection, but Cloud knows it won't last for long. He forces his way out of the mob and runs to them. What he sees makes him curse. Biggs sits against the wall of the stage, panting and grasping his stomach; blood soaks his white shirt and pools around him. Tifa crouches next to him as she holds her jacket over a flowing wound in Biggs' left leg. Cloud squats down on Biggs' other side.

"We need to get out of here," he shouts.

Tifa raises her head at the sound of his voice, and he can't help notice the relief flooding her face. "He can't walk. I dragged him here, but we'll never make it past the soldiers like that. You have to help me."

Trepidation floats in Cloud's throat; he knows what the right decision here is, and though Biggs isn't his favorite person, he hates what he's about to do.

Before he can say the words, Biggs' hand come up to grip Cloud shirt. "You have to leave. I can't make it."

"No, Biggs—" Tifa shuts up when he turns to her.

"There's a hallway backstage that should lead out," he yells. Some blood sputters out. "Check it out first, they might have covered it. Come on, Tifa," he adds as she doesn't move. "You're the fastest."

At this, she inhales shakily and nods, then takes off. As soon as she disappears behind the curtain, Biggs tightens his hold on Cloud's shirt, bringing him closer.

"You can't let them have me, man." Biggs sounds weak now, his voice devoid of the false optimism he used with Tifa. "Please."

Cloud tastes vomit at the back of his throat at the request. "You'll make it once the medics come." They both know it's a lie.

Biggs laughs and the hysterical noise is lost in the disarray. "If I do, they'll bring me in. I'll talk, man, I know I will. I'm not that strong." More blood trickles down his chin. His hand trembles. "We both know I'm dead either way. Come on, just do it."

Despite being aware they don't have time to waste, Cloud hesitates. "You might still survive—"

"Cloud," Biggs begs. "I'm bleeding out here. Make it quick. Please."

It takes him a moment, but Cloud nods. He whips out his knife, flicking the blade out. But once he positions it at Biggs' jugular, he pauses.

"Get her out of here, man," Biggs says so low Cloud almost misses it.

In a swift move, Cloud plunges the knife to the hilt. Biggs' grip on his shirt goes slack as he struggles to breathe and closes his eyes. Cloud takes out the knife. He knows Biggs won't die within seconds, but he rationalizes it's better than slowly bleeding out while being terrified.

A hissing noise explodes behind him, making him jump to his feet. Are they releasing gas—fuck, they are. They need to run. He swivels to the side, coming face to face with Tifa. The shine of her tears reveals she's been here for a while.

"Tifa—"

She shakes her head and grabs his hand, obliging him to run. She guides them into the hallway Biggs mentioned; Cloud makes out an exit door further down. His hopes plummet when he spots people trying to escape and being pushed back by the soldiers. Right as he's about to ask Tifa what they'll do, she veers to the left, dragging them into a changing room. A rush of cold air sweeps over Cloud—the window is wide open, and the heavy curtains are drawn back. Tifa lets go of his hand before closing the door behind her and shoving a chair under the handle.

Cloud vaults over the windowsill first, landing in a crouch. From where he is, he spies the military vehicles parked in strategic locations to prevent the civilians from running off, but there are no soldiers in his line of sight.

Tifa comes down next to him. "This way," she whispers, tugging at his jacket.

She takes off in a jog right across from where they are and into an alley. Cloud shadows her. The alley is large, providing little cover, and leads to a residential street; there are side openings, but they are few and far in-between. He doesn't like the layout, feeling too exposed. They're not even halfway through when he discerns the beam of a flashlight ahead of them at the mouth of the alley; Cloud seizes Tifa and brings them into the nearest opening. They stumble out of sight right as a cascade of loud footsteps is heard. Cloud steers them behind a dumpster.

They breathe heavily as the soldiers pass them by in a run. The footsteps fade into the city noise; Cloud leans around the dumpster to make sure none of them stayed behind. As he moves to take a better look, Tifa's hand shoots out to grasp his arm. Cloud twists his head to glance her way.

Her tears still stain her cheeks; her eyes are wide with unspoken fears. He thinks she has to be cold without her jacket though the adrenaline must prevent her from feeling it. Cloud can't help it—for a few seconds, he stares at her, heart clenching repeatedly in his chest. He'll do anything so they'll make it out, so they can go back home.

Cloud breaks away from Tifa in a swift movement, and adventures to the edge of the opening connecting to the alley. A quick survey reveals the soldiers are gone. He waves at Tifa to come forward, and once she does, they take off towards the street. The distance they have left to cover seems enormous.

They've barely run three meters when Cloud hears a noise that worries him—a second later, a shout freezes them in place.

"Stop!"

The voice is without doubt a soldier's; the sound of a gun's safety being released confirms it. Cloud raises his hands up by his head, and Tifa does the same. Their panting is deafening in the night. The soldier pads around them, coming to stand opposite them. His gun doesn't waver. On autopilot, Cloud notes the helmet the soldier wears—it protects his head, but the visor isn't lowered; he's wearing standard military body armor which shields his torso and neck.

"Look, man, we were just there for the music," Cloud lies as convincingly as he can. "We got scared and ran."

But the soldier doesn't buy it. He gestures at the ground with his gun. "On your knees. Hands behind your head."

Cloud curses under his breath as they both comply. He's afraid to peek in Tifa's direction in case the soldier thinks he's making a move against him.

"Listen, we had no—" Cloud tries again, but shuts it when the soldier points his handgun at Tifa's head.

"If you have nothing to hide then you'll submit to identification, right?" The soldier takes two steps closer, still aiming at Tifa, but his gaze doesn't leave Cloud. "You first."

Cloud does his best to regulate his breathing so his alarm doesn't become too apparent, but he can guess how bad of a job he's doing by the soldier's triumphant demeanor. Damn it, damn it all, he needs to get them out of here before reinforcements arrive. An idea bursts through his mind; acting on it isn't the best course of action, but fuck it, he's desperate enough.

"I'll give you my ID, all right?" He pleads to the soldier. "We'll submit to whatever."

He can't gauge Tifa's reaction from where he is though he doesn't need to see it to know his response must confuse her. The soldier waits a beat before approaching Cloud while still keeping a safe distance. Cloud has to hold in the relieved sigh when the gun shifts to him; the soldier reaches down to his waist. There's no doubt in Cloud's mind he's not going for his tablet—he can't hold the gun and input the ID code at the same time. No, he's going for his radio.

It takes a limitless effort for Cloud to focus his power on the soldier within a second. He does like when he practices with candles—he pictures him burning, his clothes aflame, until the image becomes so tangible it can only be reality. All the tricks Tifa gave him, from keeping his breathing even to channeling his energy towards one outcome, run through his head as he concentrates all his being into getting Tifa and him to safety.

At first, he thinks he's failed; nothing happens, and the soldier has a hand on his radio. It happens in a sudden blast. The man's clothes light up, and he drops his gun and radio with a startled cry. He pats at his shirt, trying to put the fire out, but the flames don't die. As they burn stronger, the soldier's surprised noises rise into a terrified scream.

Cloud gets to his feet and tackles the soldier, sending them both to the ground. The flames singe his clothes and lick his skin, warm but never painful—they haven't been since he was thirteen and his life changed forever. Cloud places one hand over the soldier's mouth so his yells won't be heard—the last thing they need is more soldiers surrounding them—and with the other, takes out his knife and stabs down. The blade lodges itself hilt-deep into the soldier's eye, the only unprotected part of him. Cloud senses the vibrations of the muted scream against his palm, the body convulsing beneath him. He imagines his power flowing from his core through his arm to the hand covering the man's mouth; he imagines the soldier burning up from the inside until he combusts. Cloud leaps back as the man bursts into flames. It's a terrible sight, and the howls spilling out from the dying man bring back memories Cloud would rather stay buried.

Unable to tear his eyes away from what he did, he jumps when Tifa grabs his hand and tugs him toward the mouth of the alley. She wastes no time, taking them through side streets and quiet residential areas until they are far enough from the club to join pedestrians on a busy street. Cloud feels dizzy—he's not sure if it's because of his ability or because he hasn't eaten for hours or because the whole incident unsettled him. But when they reach 7th Heaven fifteen minutes later, and Tifa goes around the back to avoid the nightly crowd, Cloud becomes aware of how shaken he is. Tifa releases his hand as they enter the bar; she makes a beeline for the apartment, and Cloud follows. He's not ready for Wedge to ask him where Biggs is.

Tifa is pacing when he enters the apartment; one hand on her hip, the other tugging at her hair, she exudes anger and sorrow. Cloud closes the door behind him and leans against it, exhausted. As he closes his eyes, all he sees is the madness of the club and Biggs begging him.

A sudden crash makes him jerk away from the door and open his eyes. The TV remote lays open and broken on the floor like someone threw it at the wall. Her back to him, Tifa breathes with difficulty, her fists clenched at her sides. Cloud keeps silent. Tifa moves—so fast all he notes is a blur—and grabs the vase on the kitchen table. Cloud doesn't have time to react before she throws it against the opposite wall. It explodes in pieces, the plastic flowers scattering at her feet.

Her fury doesn't dwindle. She resumes pacing, going by him like he doesn't exist. It's her silent tears that bring him to speak.

"Tifa—"

"I knew better!"

His heart breaks at the strength of her guilt. "Don't blame yourself."

She scoffs then laughs. "I've been doing this long enough, I should have known." She stops in front of him. "Rise has held anti-Shinra protests before, and I knew it. Fuck!" The shout tears from her throat.

Whatever Cloud was going to say dies off. He remembers the online thread he read earlier—'You cannot make the revolution. You can only be the revolution #rise'. He'd thought the hashtag was simply a cry for change, but it'd been the location of the gathering—he hadn't noticed the name of the place at the time. And Reno—Reno had been there, had let in the soldiers... He thinks about the nervousness of the people in attendance. Cloud has assumed it was the stress of being caught, but what if… what if it was because they'd been there for a while and no one had come forward to start the meeting—because there was never a meeting to begin with?

Cloud swears, voice loud and raging, making Tifa look at him. He flees her eyes; he'd meant to keep his reaction internal.

"What?" She asks, curt. At his lack of answer, she steps closer. "What, Cloud?"

He inhales, exhales, aware this will fuel her wrath. "I think it was a trap set by Shinra."

Tifa sucks in a breath. "Why?"

"I saw…" He gulps. "I saw the Turk who's after me in the crowd. He let the soldiers inside. There was never a gathering." At her blank expression, he adds, "Before we went in, I saw a message on the net. I think it broadcasted the location. It had a 'rise' hashtag. I didn't know the place was called Rise…" He trails off. There's no point in carrying on.

Tifa takes a couple of seconds to speak. "You saw the Turk? Reno?"

He nods.

"You _saw_ him?" She asks again.

Wary, Cloud whispers, "Yes." He knows where this is headed.

"And you didn't tell me?" She doesn't allow him to explain. "You went after him, didn't you? That's why you broke away from us. For fuck's sakes, Cloud! You could have warned us, but you chose your fucking _revenge_ instead." Her voice is a low hiss, unsettling in its quietness.

Cloud almost tells her how he didn't choose revenge; how going after Reno was deep-rooted compulsion; how he turned around to find her the moment he realized what was happening. But justifying himself is futile; she won't hear it right now. With bitterness, he thinks of the conversation they tried to have twice now—if only he'd gotten the words out. _I don't want to leave anymore_. If-only's serve no one, though—that's something he learned a long time ago.

Tifa pulls away when he comes closer and tries to touch her shoulder. " _Don't_."

"Tifa, please _._ " He doesn't care how resigned he sounds. The urge to defend himself surges, and he swallows it away. It doesn't matter why he left her behind, why he didn't warn her in time—the fact is that he did run off to chase after Reno. And he can't bring himself to act like it doesn't make a difference.

"I can't believe it. I thought, I _really_ thought…" Tifa runs a hand over her face, but it does nothing to stifle her sharp sob.

Cloud steps up to her; panic at her distress is creeping up on him. Tifa shoots her arms forward, almost hitting him, but he grabs her wrists to stop her.

"Tifa, stop, calm down—" Cloud tugs her closer despite her attempts at wrenching herself out of his grip. "You're wrong, okay? I didn't choose—" His heart skips a beat. Saying it aloud makes it real, so real, and he hesitates. It's too late to take it back even if he wanted to—her wide eyes tell him she got his meaning.

There's silence at first, then she stops struggling and leans forward, falling against his chest. Cloud waits for a second, pulse racing, before releasing her wrists; her hands come to grip the lapels of his leather jacket. He drops his cheek against the crown of her head as he wraps his arms around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. It's a sincere apology for many things.

Tifa nods, the movement slight, but there nonetheless. After a minute or two, she draws back and lets go of his jacket. She won't meet his gaze, instead focusing on a point over his shoulder.

"I'm tired," is all she says.

"Okay." He shoves his hand in his jeans' pockets and takes a deep breath. "Okay. Good night."

"Good night," she whispers back.

She walks away and into her room. The door shuts gently behind her. Cloud's stare lingers on it a beat before he rips it away. Weary, he sprawls on the sofa still clothed. Despite his exhaustion, sleep takes time to come. His mind won't rest, won't let him forget.

Below, the music booms and echoes all around him; shouts swell at times, often accompanied by cheers. The noise of the bar envelops him as he finally drifts off, a reminder of what awaits them tomorrow.

—

 **A/N:** The quote Cloud saw is from Ursula K. Le Guin's _The Dispossessed_. If you're curious, the song Cloud hears when they enter the club is 'Here Come the Regrets' by Epik High.


	19. Chapter nineteen

**A\N:** A little late, but here we are.

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

—

19

—

The wind lashes at Tifa's face as she runs. It's still dark outside—it's only 5:30 after all. The neon signs shine a path before her. The screens hanging high and displaying a news channel burn bright in the shadow of the city, but Tifa ignores them. Instead, she concentrates on her breathing, on her rhythm, on the course she chose before heading out. Her internal map of the city guides her steps, and she twists in-between alleys and large streets, relishing the absence of a crowd.

She does her best not to think, not to dwell, not to wonder what-ifs. She blocks out sounds with the music blasting in her ears, and she prevents stray thoughts by focusing on the control she needs to exert to keep her ability hidden. But there's nothing to stop her from taking in the world around her. Whether it's reminders of the citizens' poor living conditions or a flash of the news channel broadcasting a mass arrest—Tifa can't shut everything out, and finally, she yields.

She changes her course, heading right at the intersection instead of the left turn she'd planned. The new path opens on a wide street. Further down, she spies military trucks and blinking red lights. Against her better judgement, Tifa runs towards them, slowing to a jog and taking out her earbuds as she reaches the thin crowd

There can't be over fifteen people gathered around the waist-high barriers put into place. They murmur, their voices loud in the quietude of the city. Tifa catches words here and there. _Casualties_ and _rebels_ and _survivors._ She hears the unspoken one— _Avalanche_. It dances on the tip of the observers' tongues, but they don't dare say it, not with so many soldiers and officers in one place.

It's hard to see anything with all the vehicles parked strategically to hide the entrance to Rise. But Tifa doesn't need to see what happened, and she doesn't truly want to. She doesn't know why she came here or what she was hoping to accomplish.

Dread coils through her as a soldier walks their way, his expression hidden behind his visor. Only the hard twist of his mouth gives away his annoyance.

"I'm going to ask you to leave. We will be closing down this area soon."

He waits for the small crowd to comply, but no one moves.

"What happened here?" The man next to Tifa asks, his voice loud enough to startle her.

As if that was possible, the soldier's grimace worsens. "There was an unsanctioned gathering; the dissidents were arrested."

"Arrested?" The tension in the man's voice is clear.

Everyone sees the soldier's hand drift towards the gun at his hip.

"Yes," he answers. "For the last time, leave."

They listen this time, and Tifa doesn't dare linger. She already shouldn't have come here.

Her run back to 7th Heaven is short and slow-paced. No one is inside in the main area when she enters, and though she expected it to be so, she breathes a sigh of relief. She tries to soften her footsteps as she goes up the stairs. The door to her apartment shuts behind her.

Cloud is still sleeping, sprawled out on the couch in yesterday's clothes. Tifa tears her eyes away from the rise and fall of his chest and heads for her room to gather a change of clothes. Once she's in the shower, her thoughts catch up to her.

She barely slept after they came back to the apartment, twisting and turning until exhaustion overwhelmed her. Still, she'd avoided replaying the night's events. Now that she has nothing but the fall of the water to distract her, she sees everything with a clarity she didn't feel as it happened.

Biggs and her had been close to the entrance when an alarm—the emergency exit's she'd guessed—had sounded, followed by soldiers shoving their way through the main doors. Biggs' instinct had been to turn them around and deeper into the crowd, towards the back of the room. Now she knows he did it because he was aware of the other exit backstage. But it hadn't taken long for some people in attendance to grow terrified, panic, and push back against the military in order to escape. Once the first shot had been fired, chaos took over, and the situation degenerated within seconds. Biggs had been too close to a vicious fight between two citizens and a soldier; his attempt to by-pass them had led to the soldier assuming he would attack.

Tifa breathes out as she rinses her hair. The weight of Biggs' body as he had collapsed backwards against her is hard to forget. She'd done her best to drag them both as far away as she could until he couldn't walk anymore. Biggs had never been her favorite member of Avalanche; she's not sure she would even have called him a friend. But he'd been her fellow bartender—and he'd been one of them. She turns off the water with a harsh twist of her wrist.

After putting on clothes, Tifa hides in her room. She checks the net for information about what happened, wanting to see how they spun the ordeal. It doesn't take long to find; Shinra isn't trying to hide it. Like the on-site soldier, the articles mention a mass arrest of dissenters at Rise. No one talks about the riot and the deaths. Obviously, nothing alludes to Shinra being the culprit. Though there is no real way to know, Tifa believes Cloud's theory might be right. She remembers the crowd's anxiety and how it had struck her upon arrival. She'd known something was wrong from the beginning.

It takes her by surprise when noise rises from the living room. A glance at her phone tells her it's almost eight o'clock. She blinks at the time displayed on her screen, not having realized how long she spent scrolling the net and reflecting. On the other side of the door, Cloud walks around; she hears him go into his room and then back out. The sound of the shower and groaning pipes fills the apartment.

Tifa drops her phone on the bed and hides her face behind her hands. Cloud hinting at wanting to stay would have been something to celebrate any other day. But now all it does is confuse her, and the world has been turned upside down enough for one day. It's something she'll have to file away for another time.

Cloud is still in the bathroom when Tifa exits her room and pads into the kitchen. She takes the first bite of her muffin as he comes out to join her. He nods at her, his only greeting, and opens the fridge.

"You okay?"

Though the fridge's door conceals his face, Tifa can tell he tensed up from the set of his shoulders.

"I'm fine," he answers into the fridge.

Tifa finishes her bite of muffin. "All right."

Cloud finds what he was looking for and closes the door. He serves both of them a glass of orange juice. Tifa accepts in silence.

"You?" He asks after the pause stretches on for too long.

With a sigh, she remembers her outburst. Not her proudest moment, and she represses a wince.

"I'll be fine." Tifa gulps down what's left of her glass. "Shinra is letting the news spread already."

Cloud's eyebrows shot up, breaking his blank mask. "They're saying they killed dozens of unarmed civilians?"

"They're saying it was a mass arrest of Avalanche sympathizers. Not one mention of them opening fire."

Cloud curses. "It can't have gone unnoticed."

"Sure, but Shinra controls the information, so…" Tifa shrugs. "They closed down the area this morning to minimize damage."

The look Cloud sends her is hard to decipher, and she frowns. She gets it right as he puts his empty glass down with too much force.

"You went back," he says, the accusation clear in his voice.

"I went for a run." There's no point in denying it.

Though it's obvious Cloud wants to say more, he refrains, only allowing his frustration to show through the down-turned twist of his mouth.

"I'm sorry, by the way." Tifa crosses her arms. "For taking my anger out on you."

"It's fine," Cloud replies too quickly. "Let's go downstairs and get this over with."

The curtness of his answer stings Tifa, but she swallows the hurt and confusion. He's right; the longer they wait, the higher the chances of Avalanche finding out through the news.

"Yuffie must know already. I bet she's on her way."

Her words seem to surprise Cloud, and he blinks. "She doesn't live here?"

Tifa chuckles. It's true Yuffie spends a lot of nights holed up in the basement doing whatever on her computers—Tifa can see why Cloud came to his conclusion. "She lives with Jesse."

At the mention of Jesse, Cloud's blank expression returns. The realization hits Tifa, and she feels stupid for not seeing it before. In the end, Cloud is the one who ended Biggs' life; Biggs who was Wedge's and Jesse's friend.

"We don't have to tell them."

"And let them believe we left him bleeding out for Shinra to find?"

Although she'd like to deny it, he has a point, and she can't tell which option is the right one. Maybe in this case there is no right answer.

"It's your choice," she says softly. "I won't tell them unless you ask me to."

Cloud nods though his eyes flee hers.

Someone is knocking on the back door when they get downstairs. Tifa is only half surprised when she sees Cid on the other side through the peephole.

"Good morning."

"About time," Cid grumbles. "Hey, kid, don't you check your phone?"

Tifa blinks, uncertain what he's referring to. Cid doesn't appear agitated, only irritated, which makes her think it doesn't have to do with what happened last night.

"What are you talking about?"

"Not you." Cid waves at something behind her. "Him."

A quick glance over her shoulder shows Cloud followed her into the hallway.

"Oh, yeah," Cloud says. "I forgot you left your stuff. Didn't think you'd be here early, though." His eyes slide to Tifa, the moment quick enough to make her wonder if she imagined it. "I'll go get it with you."

Tifa watches as they head for the back store before going back to the main area and sitting on a stool. The door to Barret's office is open, meaning he must be out or still upstairs. The thought of explaining what happened to Barret causes her chest to ache, and she takes deep breaths to dispel the sensation.

A muffled curse makes her raise her head. Tifa gets to her feet, slowly walking towards the back store. She can guess what just happened. Their voices clear as she nears the door.

"—want to." It's Cloud, and the panic in his voice stops Tifa from turning the doorknob. "I had no time to think about it."

"He asked you to do it?" Cid asks, low enough she has to strain her ears to listen. There's a slight pause before he carries on. "Kid, listen…" But he stops himself with a curse.

"Cid—he wasn't going to make it. He needed immediate medical attention. I _know_ that, but…" Tifa doesn't hear it, but she knows Cloud's breath just hitched, and he's struggling with his words. "I've never—it's always been people I don't know. I didn't like him, but I knew him, and—it's not the same, fuck—"

"Breathe, kid."

"Tell me I did the right thing, Cid." The desperation piercing through Cloud's voice breaks Tifa's heart, and she hates herself for being blind. She hadn't noticed how much all that happened affected Cloud, too lost in her own anger and guilt.

"I think…" Cid pauses; the silence seems to go on forever. "It was the best choice," he says with a gentleness Tifa wouldn't have expected from him.

The sound of a lock turning makes Tifa jump away from the door, just in time for Barret and Yuffie to stroll in.

"Hi," Tifa says. It comes out too loud.

Yuffie yawns and goes to sit down.

"Where's Cloud?" Barret asks as a greeting. His grim expression is telling enough for Tifa.

"I'm here." Tifa hears the door to the back store shut, followed by footsteps.

"Good, you're here, too," Barret says as Cid joins them. "Have you checked the news?"

"Not yet," Cid replies with a short look at Cloud.

With a grunt, Barret drops a newspaper on the closest table. Tifa doesn't need to check the headline.

"They arrested over sixty people."

Tifa and Cloud share a glance. There had been at least a hundred people inside Rise last night.

"What is this bullshit?" Cid barks as he skims the article. "'A gathering called by the so-called Avalanche'. We organized nothing like that."

Barret shakes his head.

"Did Shinra just barge in and arrest random people, or was there really some meet up?" Cid drops the newspaper back on the table.

"It's worse than that," Yuffie calls from where she sits to their right. "Shinra's trying to hide it, but they shot down people in there. A girl who got out is spreading the word through the net."

Cid rubs the bridge of his nose. "I didn't read the whole thing, but I'm guessing they're making us out to be the bad guys."

Yuffie points at him. "Bingo."

Tifa exhales before looking at Barret. "Have you spoken with the others yet?"

Something in her voice must have betrayed her nervousness because Barret frowns. "Jesse works at Shinra Tower today, and Wedge only got home a few hours ago since he covered for Biggs. I sent them a message. I couldn't reach Biggs."

Tifa crosses her arms and nods. But Barret knows her better than anyone else; her casual posture doesn't fool him.

"What is it?"

She holds his gaze as best as she can. "We were there."

"We?" Barret echoes, his eyes on Cloud.

"I went with Cloud and Biggs."

Tifa sees the instant understanding dawns on Barret; his jaw clenches and his frown deepens.

"And where is Biggs now?"

From the corner of her vision, she notices Yuffie sitting up straight at the question.

"I'm sorry," Tifa breathes out, the sound weak.

"Did they arrest him?" Barret asks with a calm she knows he doesn't feel.

Tifa bites her lip. It's enough of an answer for Barret, but Cloud speaks up anyway. "He didn't make it out."

No one acts surprised, not with the way the topic was brought up. But Tifa still catches Yuffie's flinch and Barret's long exhale as if he needs to compose himself.

"You were aware of that gathering. You had to be."

Tifa gulps, unable to find words to answer Barret. As her silence goes on, Cloud gives them a short version of what happened, and she sags with gratefulness. There's something about confessing her mistakes to Barret that brings her back to being a little girl, that makes her revert into a shy shell she thought she had shed a long time ago.

As Cloud's explanation trails off, Barret's agitation becomes more and more evident. And deep down, Tifa understands what's going through his mind. There is sadness and anger at losing Biggs—but Tifa knows it's the fear that dominates right now. The lines blur between them once again, and she stands in front of her father, not her leader.

Barret rubs a hand over his face. "It never occurred to you how Biggs learned of the gathering?"

"I didn't—"

"I wasn't talking to you." Barret doesn't even look at Cloud. "I'm asking Tifa."

"Barret…" She whispers, feeling like a scolded child. It's what she is, at least in Barret's eyes, and embarrassment colors her face. "Look, I know I fucked up. Can we talk—"

"You should have told me before going!"

Here he goes, she thinks with surging bitterness, treating her like a kid, or maybe as a soldier who can't make her own decisions. Either option kindles her temper.

"I'm not a fucking child anymore, Barret. I don't need your permission to—"

"You sure as hell do when it comes to Avalanche!" Barret's voice booms through the bar. "You can't do whatever you like and put us all at risk!"

His words shoot through Tifa, each one an arrow embedded so deeply she fears they'll stay with her forever. To her horror, tears fill her eyes.

"I thought you trusted me." She'd wanted to sound calm, but the opposite happens, and her voice rises in a shout.

"I _do_. I trust you. But you should have known better in this case. Now Biggs is dead, and they could have gotten you, too."

Tifa had known from the beginning what this was really about; she doesn't need Barret to confirm it. But this time the sentiment only fuels the whirlwind of negative emotions sweeping her up and away.

"Stop acting like I'm just a kid!"

She wants to say she deserves her place at his side, that she's been the best support he could have asked for. But all that stays buried when she sees Barret's thunderous expression.

"You _are_ just a kid! For fuck's sakes, Tifa, what do you expect of me? That I shouldn't give a damn what happens to you?"

"That's not—"

"I hate what happened to Biggs, but more than anything, I hate that it could have been you!"

Tifa opens her mouth to retort, to say something, anything—but it all becomes too much at once, and all that comes out is a strangled noise. The tears threaten to spill over. In an instant, it's as if she's not present anymore, not really, like she's watching the scene unfold from behind a glass wall.

"All right," Cid snaps as he steps forward. "You've said enough, Barret."

"Mind your damn business, Highwind."

There's a soft pressure on Tifa's right arm, and her detached mind realizes it must be Cloud.

"Clearly now's not the time," Cid says, his voice collected.

"For fuck's sakes, stay out of this!"

Cid replies, but Tifa doesn't hear him; she wrenches her arm out of Cloud's—or maybe it's Yuffie's?—grip. Without a backward glance, she heads for the back exit, making it outside right as the tears fall.

The wind clears her mind in seconds. She finds an upturned crate and sits on it. Her body slumps forward, defeated, but she allows it. The cold air seeps through her sweater; Tifa dismisses it, not keen on going back inside.

When it comes to Avalanche, the line between her and Barret has always been thin; they've both crossed it more than once, going back and forth between partners and family. Tifa had always expected there would come a day where Barret's parental concern would overshadow his decision-making; it'd been apparent recently, what's with the dangerous nature of their missions. But in the end, he always let her go and trusted her judgement; the faith he'd shown her meant the world to her. She could have handled this argument had they been alone; she could have explained her position with more confidence than she really felt. It was the humiliation of being scolded in front of the others that had paralyzed her.

Tifa wipes at her cheeks when she hears the door open but doesn't check who joined her. The sound of a lighter flicking on tells her enough.

"Aren't you cold? It's fucking freezing out here."

"Then go back inside." She doesn't care about playing nice.

Cid's reply is to come closer and lean against the wall. The attempt at solidarity pinches Tifa's heart, and she relents.

"Sorry," she mumbles.

The smell of smoke wafts through the air. "He cares, you know. That's why he reacted like that."

"I know." The aftertaste of anger is bitter on her tongue.

"I don't like how he handled it, but don't fault him for loving you."

She takes a while to put her thought in order, but Cid gives her the time she needs. Noise rises further down the alley as people fill the street, going about their daily lives. Tifa watches the stream of passers-by with a prickling of envy; she wouldn't change who she is, what she does, but sometimes it'd be nice not to fear for her life.

"I know how much he loves me," she ends up saying, choosing her words with care. "But as he is my father, he is also Avalanche's leader. He needs to remember that in these kinds of situations."

Cid sighs, and she finally glances his way. He meets her eyes, wariness etched in his.

"Tifa, did Barret want you to join Avalanche?"

She has an inkling of where he is going with his question, and though she doesn't like it, she still answers him. "Not particularly."

"Ever wondered why? Humor me," he adds when she throws him a dry look.

Tifa runs a hand through her hair. "Because he didn't want to put me in danger."

"Because there would come a time where he wouldn't be able to control that danger." Cid puts out his cigarette on the brick wall and throws it in the bucket at his feet. "He knows how you are. I'm sure he expected something like that to happen one day, and it freaked him out."

"How I am?" Tifa asks, unsure how to take it.

Cid rolls his eyes. "I mean how you always want to do more, how you always want to help." He shrugs. "He knew at some point you'd do your own thing and he wouldn't be able to stop you."

She rubs her arms, getting colder and colder. "I thought he trusted my judgement," she confesses softly. "Don't get me wrong, I know I made a mistake, but it was as if everything else I've done didn't matter. Only this one mistake. All the plans I helped elaborate, all the support I gave him, all the missions I went on…" She sighs, defeated. "I could have taken it if he'd given me hell as my leader. But for him to act like that in front of everyone—it feels like it reduced me to nothing but a child. It was humiliating." She laughs, but there is no mirth in the sound. "Now I don't know where I truly stand in Avalanche. It's been my life for over ten years, Cid. My place in Avalanche, it's—it was—the only thing I was sure of. I mean, what if he was just indulging me this whole time? I helped him build it, goddamn it," she whispers.

Cid lights up another cigarette. "I get you're hurt, Tifa, but don't jump to conclusions. Barret wouldn't waste his time indulging you. He's got bigger fish to fry."

Now she feels stupid for even thinking about it. "You're right. I'm being dramatic."

"A bit," Cid chuckles. "Give him the day to calm down and all that. You two can have a heart-to-heart after that. Tifa," he continues, his voice serious, "whatever Barret really thinks—you two are the heart of Avalanche. We all know it, and a little fight won't change that."

A mix of emotions take over her, threatening to spill out, and all she can do is nod. Cid stands next to her until he's done with his cigarette. As he's about to go back inside, she calls out to him. He turns his head to look her way.

"I know I wasn't fair in the beginning," Tifa says, meeting his gaze head-on. "I wouldn't give you a chance. But I'm glad the others did and you're here."

Cid raises an eyebrow. "Even though I'm useless?"

She clears her throat. "I might have been harsh." For a moment, she hesitates. Though Cid meant to tease her, there's an undercurrent of resentment in his tone. He wants to do more than pick up information here and there. "We all have a purpose," she ends up saying.

"Great, now you're waxing philosophy."

"That's not—" Tifa exhales. "I meant it literally. There's a reason you're with us, Cid."

His attention piqued, he faces her. "Which is?"

She weighs her options. Now more than ever, doubt creeps up on her. "Let's say your skills as an engineer will come in handy."

Cid's eyes narrow, the sight almost comical. "Why the mystery?"

"I don't want to talk about it out here. But trust me, you're far from useless."

Stubborn as he is, it surprises Tifa when he laughs and lets the subject drop.

"All right, keep your secrets," he says.

Tifa notices he lodged a brick between the door and the sill, meaning the door had been opened the whole time. The thought that Barret might have been eavesdropping crosses her mind, but she dismisses it. It's not his style.

Cid waves at her as he heads back inside, and she watches him disappear. She bites her bottom lip, wondering if she did the right thing by trying to motivate Cid. In a way, she guesses she was trying to pay him back for the support.

She stays where she is, lost in her thoughts until Cloud's head pops up around the door. He doesn't come closer. "Barret left. You okay?"

With a nod, Tifa gets to her feet. "I'll be fine." She walks up to him and goes inside, moving the brick and closing the door behind her.

Cloud stands across her. His hands in his jeans' pockets, one foot propped up against the wall—he looks so casual, she knows it's forced.

"Sorry you had to see that." Tifa feels her cheeks heat as the fight replays in her mind.

"Don't worry about it." His gaze strays from hers. "Barret said to tell you the bar is closed for the night. For Biggs' death."

"Makes sense." There's tension swirling between them, and she's had more than enough. She had figured pushing Cloud's decision aside for now was the best move, but she's not so sure anymore. Now more than ever, she needs her partner.

"Are you really staying?" She whispers.

The following silence is absolute; Tifa hears her heartbeat drumming in her ears. Her hands form fists behind her back, the suspense of his answer manifesting through anxiety.

In the end, Cloud nods, eyes holding hers so she can see his sincerity. She sags against the wall.

"Really?" She hates how meek she sounds.

"Yes."

"Why?" The question comes out unbidden.

Cloud's blank expression softens. "Because I want to stay with you."

She gulps, and her nails dig into her palms. It's a start, she thinks, a step in the right direction.

"You should want to stay for yourself," she says with gentleness, not wanting to diminish his sentiment.

He shrugs. "It'll come in time."

Tifa holds in a breath as the reality of his words crashes down on her. Still, her body won't relax, as if awaiting the bad news. It tenses even more as Cloud pushes away from the wall and crosses the space separating them. He stops less than a step away, close enough she needs to tilt her head back the slightest amount to look at his face.

"What I want," Cloud says, his voice so soft she would miss it if he wasn't so near, "is to stay with you. It's more than enough."

"You're serious." She can't help but say it and dissimulating her incredulity proves impossible.

His lips curl into the shadow of a smirk. "You had to ruin my moment. Yes, Tifa, I'm serious."

"When did you…" She trails off, but her meaning is clear.

"It's been a while, I think. But I realized it when we spoke in the meeting room a few days ago."

Finally, her fists unclench. For a beat, she keeps still, then brings one hand up to straighten the collar of his plaid shirt and smooth the wrinkles of his t-shirt. She's aware she's fidgeting, but when her hand moves over his heart, staying there, and she feels its erratic beat, all traces of nervousness flee.

"You can have your moment now," she says with a smile.

"How generous," Cloud murmurs as he grabs the hand splayed over his heart and tugs her forward until she's tucked against his body.

"You guys look cozy."

Tifa jumps at Yuffie's voice, who stands at the mouth of the hallway, arms crossed.

"Before you ask, I just got here," Yuffie says, punctuating her words with a dramatic eye-roll.

"You're a pest, you know that?" Cloud deadpans.

Yuffie sniffs haughtily. "I believe I don't."

"Did you want something or do you get a kick out of minding our business?"

Yuffie's expression shutters. "Wedge is here. He wants to speak with you."

Cloud stiffens, and his grip on Tifa's hand tightens. She raises her eyes to his, but he's staring at Yuffie and doing his best to mask his fear.

"Come on," Tifa says, "let's go."

She takes a step towards Yuffie, but to her confusion, Cloud stops her.

"I'll talk to him."

The way he spoke to Cid in the back store, the desperation in his voice—it comes back to Tifa at once, and she shakes her head.

"Cloud—"

He untangles their hands. "Let me deal with this." Without another word, he walks past her and Yuffie. A few seconds later, she hears the door to the back store open and close. It's tempting to stay and eavesdrop, but Tifa affords them the respect due and heads upstairs into her apartment. Yuffie doesn't follow.

Tifa sprawls on her couch and stares at the ceiling as everything catches up to her. She lets it roll over her, allowing the current to sweep her away for a moment. That's how she stays, even as doors slam downstairs and yells rise at some point until her eyelids flutter against her will, and she drifts off, lost in dreams.

—

"Remember, spread your focus over each target, but not so much that it scatters."

"I know," Cloud grumbles.

He takes a deep breath and holds it in. Tifa leans forward, dropping a hand on his back.

"Don't tense up. Let it flow out of you. I know it's hard since you repressed it most of your life, but it's a natural part of who you are. You don't have to force it."

"This stupid blindfold isn't helping."

Tifa holds in a smile even though he can't see her. "You can't always rely on sight. Rely on your will. If you know the targets are there, you don't need their exact location."

Cloud exhales. "I'm totally going to set the table on fire."

Tifa throws a worried glance at said coffee table where a dozen of candles lie.

"Try it at least."

"Okay. Okay."

Tifa keeps her hand on his back, and the tautness slowly leaves his body as he concentrates. He brings an arm forward, hand extended towards the candles, but not touching them yet.

"No cheating," she chides.

"I'm just channeling. I need to move for it to happen. Makes it easier for some reason."

She hums, relenting. She counts the seconds, getting to twelve before Cloud abruptly waves his hand, and fire burns bright. In a flash, all the candles light up. Tifa releases a relieved sigh when she sees the table stayed intact.

Cloud licks his bottom lip, a nervous gesture. "How did I do?"

"Amazing," she laughs. "You're getting really good at controlling it."

He tilts his head to the side. "Uh, now that you mention it, I am feeling more in control these days."

A knock on her door sounds as she's about to remove his blindfold. Tifa's stomach tightens at the idea that Barret stands on the other side, their morning fight still fresh on her mind. Still, she can't avoid him forever.

"Come in," she calls, not letting anxiety seep into her voice.

"Dudes, you gotta—fucking hell, what are you two _doing_?" Yuffie closes the door behind her, a disgusted look etched on her face as she takes in the blindfold and the dozen of lit candles. "Is this some witchy ritual? Or some really weird role-play?"

"Her again?" Cloud says with obvious irritation as he lowers the loosened blindfold. "Can I set _her_ on fire?"

"As tempting as it is…" Tifa says dryly.

Yuffie rests her hands on her hips and stares them down. "Haha, you guys are _so_ funny."

Cloud gives her a feigned smile, teeth bared. "Why are you bothering us this time?"

"I am 'bothering' you to tell you to turn on the news."

Cloud snorts at Yuffie's use of air-quotes, but Tifa grabs the remote and sets the news channel, curious. At first all they see is a reporter in front of an elegant building Tifa can't place, though she's certain it's in Sector 1 from the opulence of it.

Then the scene switches, and her heart drops.

Rufus Shinra is exiting a limo, impeccably dressed as always, and waves at the crowd of reporters. Soldiers stand close, forming a wide circle of protection around the President. The reporter's voice echoes, babbling on about 'funding' and 'reception' and 'how unexpected for the President to arrive unannounced after being out of the public eye for so long'.

"The dick is trying to show he's not afraid of us," Yuffie says, but her voice is distant in Tifa's ears.

Rufus Shinra straightens up with his usual half-smile on. But that's not what Tifa focuses on. No, her attention is on the man in a black suit standing a step behind the President. On the man who helped him out of the limo, who leans forward to whisper in his ear. On the man who is clearly the President's bodyguard for the night.

It's Vincent.

Although he carries himself differently—more assured, more attentive—he is recognizable. Her pulse skips a beat as he tails the President, now going up the stairs and into the building. They disappear inside, and the image goes back to the reporter.

A light pressure on her leg snaps Tifa out of it, and she directs her gaze to Yuffie, doing all she can to hide her shock. Cloud's hand squeezes her knee.

Yuffie is still ranting about the President daring to appear in public after ordering the arrest of over sixty citizens. Though Tifa doesn't disagree, all she does is nod and hum her agreement. Cloud participates more, but she senses his lack of interest in the conversation.

"He's a little shit," Yuffie concludes.

It's almost funny how her insults are juvenile, but Tifa knows it's Yuffie's way of dealing with her harsher emotions.

"The security is high," Tifa remarks aloud, still distracted by Vincent's appearance.

"Uh, obviously, Tifa. He's the President."

"Yeah…" Tifa frowns. "But he's not usually surrounded by soldiers for these types of outings."

"We're making him nervous," Cloud says. "That's good, right?"

"I mean, we did annihilate most of his Board of Directors." Yuffie purses her lips. "We still got one on our hands."

"We're not going after Tuesti. Not yet at least."

Cloud gives Tifa an inquisitive glance. "Why not?"

She waves her hand around in a dismissive move. "He's the only Board member Midgard likes. And one of the department he's in charge of is Health Services. They're shit, but taking that away would be a blow to the people."

"Right. We'll put back the murder." Yuffie sighs in a dramatic fashion. "Well, I'll leave you to your weird, kinky shit."

With that, she makes her exit, almost slamming the door on her way out.

"Fuck, she can be annoying," Cloud breathes out. He removes his hand from Tifa's knee. "You okay? You got all tense."

Tifa takes the time to blow out all the candles before answering. "Did you see the guy guarding Shinra?"

"Yeah, what about him?"

"Remember when I told you about the customer who knew about Avalanche?"

Cloud's face becomes devoid of all expression as her words register. "Shit."

"Pretty much," Tifa sighs. Her mind whirls at the possibilities. "He has to be a Turk or something like it if he is gathering intel one day, acting bodyguard to the President the next. Someone Shinra must trust."

"That's not good." Cloud runs a hand over his face.

"He said he was aiming to change the way things work from the inside. If he was telling the truth, it makes sense that he'd try to be close to the President."

"That's a big if."

Tifa nods absentmindedly. Her hesitancy to kill him might prove disastrous. She won't make the same mistake again.

"I know you're still on the outs, but you should let Barret know."

"You're right," she replies quietly. "I'm just afraid of what he'll say."

"Want me to come with you?"

"No." She inhales deeply. "It probably won't be pretty. Again."

She finds Barret in his office despite the late hour. The door is open, but Tifa still knocks on the frame before entering. Barret doesn't glance up from his papers.

"What is it?"

"You could sound happier to see me," Tifa says as she shuts the door so they won't be heard if Yuffie passes by.

Her words have Barret raise his head, and his features soften. "I thought it would be someone else. Listen, kiddo—"

"Not now." Tifa doesn't care to discuss their previous fight, not with the news she's bearing. The nickname twists her insides, the memories too fresh. "I have something to tell you. I'm warning you, you won't be happy."

Barret drops his pen and reclines in his chair. "Okay, " he says, alert and already frowning. "Go ahead."

Tifa doesn't waste time. She starts with Vincent's initial visit to 7th Heaven, then his asking for help, until she reaches his TV appearance at the President's side. Barret doesn't interrupt once, but she observes the thunder gathering in his eyes.

"I want to take him out," Tifa says as soon as she's done with her explanation.

Barret's lips thin in anger, and he takes a second to compose himself. "First of all, I'm not even going to tell you how fucking _dumb_ keeping this from me was."

Tifa refrains from being snarky and say that he just did.

"Second, we're not killing him. No way," he carries on over her sound of protest. "If what he said is true, we'd be losing a possible ally which we're short on."

"And if he was lying?" She crosses her arms.

"What can we do, Tifa? You know next to nothing about this guy. And you said Yuffie couldn't find him. Looking for him would be tricky, and we're done with unnecessary risks." His stare is telling, a reminder of her previous decision and its consequences.

It takes a lot out of her to conceal her disappointment, but she manages. Maybe it's a repercussion of their fight, but she has this impression that her opinion has lost its weight. It sinks her stomach and fuels her anger, but she nods and says, "Understood."

Barret doesn't appear convinced. If only he didn't know her so well. "Truly?"

"Yes. I'm going back upstairs." She turns around.

"Tifa, I think we should talk about this morning."

"I don't. Not tonight." She twists the doorknob. "Good night."

"Night, kiddo." She catches his deep sigh as she closes the door.

Cloud is still sitting on the couch when she walks back in her apartment. His hand waves over the candles and they light up one by one. He's got the blindfold on.

"Caught anything else on fire?"

He chuckles. "Not so far."

She heads for the kitchen, serving herself a glass of water, hoping it'll cool her down.

"How did it go?" Cloud says as he removes the blindfold and extinguishes the candles with another wave of his hand.

"I wish we could experiment with bigger targets. Really test your ability."

"Nice attempt at avoidance."

She grunts. "I tried." Her glass drained, she goes to sit beside him, her exhaustion suddenly overwhelming despite the nap she took earlier. "He disagrees with what I suggested."

"Taking him out?"

"Yeah. He says it would be short-sighted if Vincent is telling the truth, and that we can't find him, anyway."

Cloud keeps his silence, and she gets the sense he might agree with Barret. Exasperated at the situation, Tifa rests her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees.

"I'll think about what I'll do," she mumbles.

"You'll go against Barret?" The question is gentle.

"Barret didn't talk to Vincent. I did. If I think it's for the best, yeah, I will."

Dimly, she's aware that she would never have said this had they never fought.

"I don't think his arguments are wrong," she adds, "but I also think Vincent switches agenda depending on what fits his goals best. He could turn against us any day."

She hears rustling and then sighs as Cloud trails a hand over her back. It has her look up and straighten.

"I'll help you," is all he says.

"Thanks," she whispers.

He gives her little smile, and she lets her body fall against his. His hand keeps on drifting up and down her back, the action soothing.

The TV still plays in the background, and Tifa peeps a re-run of the President's outing, Vincent still at the man's side, before her eyes close.

—


	20. Chapter twenty

**A\N:** I lost count of how many times I wrote and then scraped this chapter. It was meant to be a two-in-one again, but it was taking me so much time that I chose to post this part alone first. It might feel a bit incomplete because of that.

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

—

20

—

"Lieutenant."

The soldier's eyes drift from the screen he was monitoring to the Captain standing at the entrance of the Command Center. The man fills the doorway, his stature imposing; it used to make him wary, but not anymore.

The Captain gestures at the soldier to follow him. "It's time for the emergency briefing."

They don't chat on the way. When they enter the room, the Captain heads at the front; the soldier stands behind him, to the side, hands behind his back. Dozens of soldiers face him, waiting for the briefing to start. The Captain doesn't waste time with pleasantries; he never has. They're all supposed to know why they're here.

"Avalanche is planning on bombing the railways between Sector 1 and 2 tomorrow afternoon," the Captain says as an introduction. It disquiets the soldiers, has them shuffle a little. "The source appears to be reliable, and in any case, we won't take any chances with this."

The soldier keeps his stare on the back of the room. He can't let any of them know the direction his thoughts take these days.

"We'll be intercepting," the Captain continues. "You'll be splitting into two teams, one for each Sector. We will secure a perimeter and evacuating civilians. Arrests can be made, but getting the people to safety comes first."

He goes on for a few more minutes, listing team assignments and details, and projecting schematics on the screen. The soldier nods when he is told he will be in charge of one team. He expected this.

The Captain wraps up and dismisses everyone, leaving his position at the front. The soldier has to rein in his surprise when he notices the man forgot to log off the computer. His mind whirs at the opportunity; does he dare take it? Is it a trap? In the end, he stays and waits for the room to empty. When the last stragglers exit, he goes to close the door behind them.

He doesn't have a lot of time before he needs to head back to Command and resume his duties. But he needs this moment to verify sensitive information; it might be the only one he will ever have.

Ever since the day he went to the Research floor and saw the man strapped to a chair and trashing in pain, the soldier has been uneasy. He's never had a reason to suspect Shinra—he doesn't remember a time he ever did.

The soldier skims the file directory on the computer, not finding anything related to Research; he opens a few files that appear to have codenames to be sure. One is a list of ID cards. Nothing weird about it; seems to be a census of sort. The soldier scrolls down, curious. The cards display basic information, but he notices three additional lines: Registration, Manifestation, Status. That's it, this must be the Research census for arrested Carriers. He checks the first card. Registration: 671103-143; Manifestation: telekinesis (danger: high); Status: failed. He reads the second card. Registration: 671029-142; Manifestation: invisibility (danger: mild); Status: failed. He scans a few more cards. They all indicate the same status—failed. In other words, dead. A quick double check of the registration number on first card tells him the date of the latest arrest—November 3rd, less than a week ago. Victim number 143.

The soldier closes all windows, leaves the computer as he found it, and walks out of the room. He goes back to the Command Center, head down.

They're conducting experiments; he realized it the same night he saw the helpless man. He doesn't know what they are looking to do—but he finds it doesn't matter.

It's wrong. And he believes no reason would make it right.

He's never been partial to Carriers. The truth is that he's never had to form any opinion on them; he can't think back on a time where people showed them any favor. But he's still got his morals, as thin as they can get, and now—now things have changed, and he can't let himself be swept by the current of mistrust. He needs to think for himself.

Letting go of all he's ever known about Carriers isn't easy, and he won't lie to himself and say it's already done. He's arrested so many, stood by during several executions, pulled the trigger himself a few times. And maybe he'll never be able to be objective, but he'll try.

For her.

He can't let her down.

—

"Are we _really_ doing this?"

Tifa gives Yuffie her best what-do-you-think look as she brings the brim of her cap lower. Her oversized jacket, miniskirt and combat boots are trendy enough for her to blend in with the Sector 2 crowd; it's not the most practical outfit for a mission, but she's not expecting to do any fighting. More likely some running.

Yuffie swirls her chair around. "It's a little risky."

"It is," Tifa says, shouldering her small backpack. "But we have to keep up the momentum."

Yuffie hums, the sound non-committal.

"You knew it'd come to this one day, Yuffie." Tifa sighs. "What's actually going on?"

A shrug is her answer, and Tifa bits her tongue in frustration. The mission has her on edge already, and her patience is non-existent.

"Having doubts?" Tifa asks, failing to hide the exasperation in her voice.

Yuffie swings the chair until she is facing her monitors. "No." Her typing fills the silence.

Tifa shakes her head and heads for the door leading upstairs. It's with her last glance at Yuffie—seeing her hunched forward, shoulders tense—that realization dawns.

It almost tumbles out of Tifa, but she swallows it. Yuffie doesn't like dealing with her emotions, and exposing her fears would worsen the situation. Instead, Tifa says, "We'll see you after."

A tight nod is all Yuffie allows herself.

Tifa waits a moment, giving Yuffie time to speak if she wants it. When it becomes obvious she'll stay silent, Tifa starts up the stairs, but not before hearing the whispered "You better". She doesn't break her stride, acting like she never heard the words, but a knot forms in her heart, a stark reminder of the danger they're placing themselves in today.

Cid and Jesse wait in the bar, speaking in hushed tones. They fall silent as Tifa comes into view. She acts like it doesn't bother her at first, until their furtive glances and silence grow too heavy to endure.

"What is it?"

"You remember how to detonate?" Cid says too quickly.

"I've only set off about five of these before, but yeah, I remember." Tifa gives him a pointed glare. "They left already, didn't they?"

Cloud and Barret leaving for their half of the mission without telling her goodbye is the sole reason she finds for Jesse's and Cid's fretful attitude.

Jesse nods. The confirmation spears through Tifa, but she maintains her composure. Maybe it's not that big of deal, she tells herself—still, this is their highest stakes assignment yet, and a goodbye would have been a simple reassurance.

"All right," she calls, "our turn to leave."

Cid follows them outside, lighting a cigarette the second he steps through the door. "Be careful you two. Remember the range—"

"Cid," Jesse snaps. "We know."

He raises his hands in a placating gesture. "Just making sure."

With a last see-you-later, Tifa and Jesse walk for the nearest train station. They chat on the way, but nerves take over, and they soon fall silent. For once, Tifa wishes she was with a chatterbox like Cid; the quiet intensifies the edginess streaming through her. She relies on the background noise of the train and its passengers to keep her distracted from her thoughts.

As they near Sector 1, the speaker crinkles to life. " _Attention, all passengers, Station 2-17 and Station 1-16 are closed for emergency maintenance. We ask for all passengers to disembark at Station 2-18. A shuttle service is available for those wanting to cross into Sector 1. Please remember to have your ID ready. I repeat—"_

Disgruntled groans and annoyed whispers overtake the announcement. Tifa bites back a small smile; so far, Shinra has reacted the way they expected. A quick glance at Jesse shows her frowning.

"You okay?" Tifa leans forward so they don't have to raise their voices.

Jesse fidgets with the buttons of her trench-coat. Underneath she wears her Shinra uniform. "Just nervous," she murmurs. "It's strange to do this without him."

Tifa puts her hand over Jesse's, squeezing in reassurance. Biggs' death hangs over all of them.

"We'll be all right," Tifa says. It's a lie, of course, because there's no way to guarantee that. But she imagines the empty comfort might be better than nothing. "I'll see you after," she adds as the train stops at Station 2-19. The announcement plays again, almost unheard beneath all the noise, prompting people to get off. Tifa lets go of Jesse's hand and follows the exiting crowd. She doesn't look back as the doors shut.

The distance to Station 2-18 is short, and it doesn't take Tifa long to reach the barricaded area. Soldiers hold position every few meters, preventing civilians from accessing the station. Tifa takes her place as a curious onlooker. She scans the area to make sure everything is as Wedge and Cid described.

The military sealed off a bigger area than what they'd expected; Tifa must be standing almost 40 meters to the entrance to the station. The bombs' range isn't extensive, but this will allow them a larger margin of error. Far across, soldiers escort people out of the station towards a side street. Tifa spots a Shinra uniform, but there's no way to tell if it's Jesse.

Tifa's eyes stray to the nondescript black car parked on the right side of the street, halfway between the station and her position, as Wedge had said. Further away, another car fitting Cid's description sits closer to the station. The cellphone serving as a detonator is heavy in her pocket; she brushes her finger against it, distracted. She can't help but be worried about Barret and Cloud. So far their plan seems to be working as expected—the military fell for the false leak Yuffie planted, allowing Barret's team to act unhindered. Jesse and her only need to keep them occupied.

A siren wails as a truck approaches. The crowd parts, letting it through the barricade; Tifa moves to the far left, near the front to keep a good visual. That's when she notices the change in the soldiers evacuating the citizens. They separate into two groups, leading people through a second route—Tifa's heart jumps into her throat. They're moving towards one of the cars Wedge and Cid armed. She won't be able to detonate, they'll be in range in ten, nine, eight—

The truck crosses into the blockaded area. Soldiers move in to put the fences back into place. There's a second of silence as Tifa keeps counting down—seven, six, five—before an explosion rings out. Screams erupt as searing heat and violent winds sweep over the area. People throw themselves on the ground out of instinct, and Tifa does the same, her heart hammering in her chest. Three seconds feel like an hour as she opens her eyes to darkness and struggles to get up. The explosion caused flash blindness, and though she knows its temporary, fear scrambles her mind. She's never been so unprepared in these situations—what the hell was Jesse thinking, detonating early? The ringing in her ears makes it hard for her to focus—someone steps on her hand as panic takes over, and the pain snaps her out of it. She trips over her own feet and people still lying on the ground as she finally gets to her feet.

It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. The sight before her is worse than she expected. The car that had been closest to the crowd blew up, catching the military truck in its blast right as it rolled past. The remains of the car burn bright and hot; the truck lies on its side, the right side wrecked. There are no soldiers crawling out and away from the vehicle, not that Tifa assumed there would be with the strength of the explosion.

Someone's elbow digs into her back as they try to push past her. It propels Tifa into someone else, who shoves her. She needs to get out of the crowd before the remaining soldiers close in on them. It's Tifa's turn to move people out of her way, and she reaches the edge of the crowd quickly enough. She takes a second to lean against the brick wall to catch her breath and put her thoughts in order.

Jesse acted ahead; she was supposed to wait for Tifa to blow up her designated car, further away from the crowd so that the citizens had time to flee. They hadn't wanted to cause undue injuries. It must have been the evacuation route, Tifa realizes. Jesse saw they were herding people towards the car bomb—she had no way to know if Tifa had noticed, and chose to detonate hers first to avoid a disaster. Tifa blinks a few times, her eyes still sensitive. She needs to make a decision and fast.

A glance in the station's direction reveals most of the soldiers leading the last of the citizens away through the original route, the one on the opposite side of the remaining bomb. The rest of the military jog along the street towards the destroyed truck. Another look, this time at the crowd in which she stands. There are only three soldiers watching them, the others standing near the truck, but there will bee more soon, and then there won't be a way out. It's now or never.

She plunges her hand into her jacket's pocket and pulls out the phone as subtly as she can. Her fingers fly over the keys, dialling the number of the phone attached to the bomb. Tifa doesn't hesitate—she hits send.

The second blast rocks the crowd with less force, but shows no mercy for the soldiers who had been heading this way. This time, there is no panic; instead, a stunned hush settles over the onlookers. Sirens howl in the distance, steadily getting closer. Tifa puts the phone away; she needs to leave. Before she can take a step, an enraged cry resonates, breaking the illusion of silence. A man throws himself at the nearest soldier, bringing him down and punching him. From where she is, Tifa can see the man reach for the soldier's handgun, snatching it out of its holster. It happens fast, so fast no one reacts. The man moves back and stands over the soldier. The other two soldiers grab for their rifles, but their surprise at the man's actions costs them both. Their movements are slower than they should be, allowing a group of citizens to overwhelm them. Gunfire echoes, the sound jarring despite everything that has happened. People scream, but only the two soldiers collapse. Tifa sees the blood pool around them. She raises her eyes to the first man, still holding the handgun. His hand shakes; his grip is far from proper; a snarl distorts his features. All this happened within ten seconds, and yet Tifa feels time stretch and slow as the man starts yelling.

"Fuck you! Fuck you all and fuck Shinra!"

He fires a shot. He doesn't miss.

"This is for Mia!" Another shot. "You shot her in the back on a fucking playground!"

He pulls the trigger again and again. "She was my kid, you fucking piece of shit—she was my kid and you shot her for the way she was born." He fires again. "She was my kid, she was mine, you fucking—" The man keeps shouting and firing even though there are no more bullets. Even though he never missed and the soldier is long dead. He stops, finally, his breathing laboured. An instant of stillness overtakes the crowd, and then it shatters as military trucks round the corner.

Tifa's reflex is to tear her eyes away from the broken man and count the soldiers jumping out of the vehicles. Ten of them; the crowd of citizens must be at least fifty strong. Reinforcements have to be on their way.

Some of the soldiers yell for calm and order, their guns ready. Tifa senses the shift that overcomes the people. As if on cue, they move, a wave of desperation and violence cresting against the military. Chaos erupts, loud and brutal. Tifa freezes, taken back to that night at Rise. Although she is at the edge and far from the fighting, she suffocates from the terror and the heat and the noise and her hands are slick with blood, Biggs's blood—

No. It's not real, and she knows it. Tifa digs her nails into her palm, hard enough to hurt. The pain grounds her to reality, and reality means she needs to get the fuck out of here.

Breaking through the mob proves hard. In the frenzy, someone hits her hard in the stomach, and she doubles over. The decision to use her ability is made in a split second when she notices more trucks; Shinra mobilized so many soldiers for this. That's good, she thinks, that's good for Cloud and Barret. Tifa moves fast in small bursts, just enough to allow her to slip in between people with minimal damage.

Tifa spots an alley beyond the row of soldiers; she knows it leads to a dead end, but there's a fire escape she can climb to access the roof. She'll find a way out from there. The challenge is getting past the military. She might be able to break through, but if they see her running to the alley, she might get followed. Weaving through the soldiers is almost impossible considering their tight formation. She'll have to make an opening.

A small cluster of citizens brawl with the soldiers at the extremity of the chaos, not too far from her. Tifa moves without restraining her ability; she ducks and sweeps the ground with a kick. Her speed adds to her strength, and she hits two pair of legs. The people she caught collapse, bringing down the soldier they were fighting with. The opening is small, but Tifa doesn't slow; she crosses the ring of soldiers and runs the ten meters to the alley without looking back. Some part of her wishes she would stay and help, but logic trumps; she can't risk getting arrested again.

The alley is full of shadows despite the dim gray afternoon light. Tifa makes for the ladder at the end and halts in front of it. A noise makes her freeze; the cellphone she used fell out of her pocket. She picks it up and shoves it back into her jacket's pocket. There's no way she can leave that lying there.

Her hand is on the ladder when she hears the telltale click of a safety releasing. Tifa closes her eyes. Damn it. This is way too familiar.

"Hands where I can see them. Turn around."

Staying silent, Tifa complies, hoping that the darkness of the alley coupled with her cap hides most of her features. No such luck for the soldier; she can see him clearly. Handsome in a generic way, and somewhat severe, she wouldn't have given him a second glance on the street. He stands less than three meters away, his gun in front of him—how the hell did she not hear him coming?

"That's quite the trick you pulled to get out," he says, inching closer.

Tifa swallows her surprise. He couldn't have seen her move, it's impossible.

"If you're wondering, I happened to look that way at the right moment." His tone is conversational, but the way his eyes narrow makes Tifa think he's leading somewhere.

"And you knew I'd come in here?" Tifa asks, matching his tone.

"It's the only way out that made sense."

Their stares meet; Tifa tenses, ready to act.

"You're a Carrier," he says. "I didn't know Avalanche had any interest in helping them."

"What would make you think I'm with these guys?"

The soldier raises his gun a little higher, bringing it level with her face. "You're fast, I'm observant. I spotted you in the crowd. The escape gave it away."

"I'll remember that next time."

That's it, Tifa thinks, she needs to get the fuck out.

But the soldier isn't done. "Are you helping Carriers?"

The question takes her aback. She didn't think he actually had an interest in the matter.

"Why?"

As he goes to answer, the radio clipped to his vest crinkles with static. " _Lieutenant, where are you?_ "

The soldier ignores the call. "Does it matter?"

"Coming from you, it does."

The gun doesn't lower. "My little sister manifested a couple of weeks ago."

"And I'm guessing your family isn't very fond of Carriers if you're part of the military."

" _Lieutenant?"_

"You could say that. I don't want her to die. I don't want her to end up like the people in the Tower."

Tifa stiffens. This means Vincent was telling the truth. "What do they do to them?"

"Make it a fair trade and I'll tell you what I know."

" _Lieutenant? Lieutenant, we need you here!"_

The urgency seeping through the radio call worries Tifa. They might come looking for him at any second.

"Yes," she says. "Yes, we try to help them by destroying the people who kill them. But if you want to help, really help, teach her control. We can't take down all the threats or we'd have to kill most of the city. Now, tell me about the Carriers in the Tower."

" _Lieutenant, where the fuck are you! They're breaking through!"_

The lieutenant lowers his gun. "They're conducting experiments. Torturing them."

"But _why_?"

He shakes his head. "I couldn't find out. Whatever it is, it kills them. They have a census to keep track of who they bring in. There's over a hundred names. All dead." The lieutenant doesn't break eye contact as he reaches for his radio. "I'm on my way."

Tifa's mind whirs. He's leaving and so are opportunities at more information. But she can't stay and get discovered again. And he's seen her face, he knows she's with Avalanche… she can't make the same mistake as with Vincent.

The words tumble out of her mouth before she can hold them back. "If you want to save her, help us. Give us info we can use."

"I can't." The way he says it leaves no room for argument. "I can't agree with Shinra anymore, but the same goes for you. I can't condone the way you're doing things."

Tifa seethes. "Shinra doesn't leave us a choice."

The lieutenant holsters his gun. "That's what you want to believe to justify yourself."

He turns around, showing her his back. Tifa hesitates. She should kill him, she really should.

"The perimeter ends two blocks south," he says over his shoulder before taking off.

Tifa watches his form disappear around the corner. The second he vanishes, she climbs the ladder. Her body acts on autopilot as she gets to the roof and then jumps unto a lower building, landing in a roll.

He let her go. And she did the same.

Strangely, it doesn't feel like a mistake, even though she knows it has to be. The lieutenant can most likely identify her now. It crosses her mind that he might have directed her in a trap, but she passes through unhindered. The metal staircase creates a racket as she runs down. The streets are busy, and Tifa blends in with the crowd, heading for the closest station so she can go back to 7th Heaven.

There's no way she can tell Barret about the encounter. Their relationship is shaky as it is since their fight, and this will only worsen it. She'll keep it a secret for now.

Now that she is safe, worry for Barret and Cloud gnaws at her. She checks the time; they should be acting on their plan soon. She can only hope things go better for them.

—


	21. Chapter twenty-one

**A\N:** I don't know much about physics and whatnot, so ignore any bad research/understanding on my part starting from now. My (amazing) excuse is that it's scifi. Also, this is now posted on AO3. I'm testing the platform.

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

—

21

—

The cleanliness of the Sector 4 Public Safety HQ building is a stark contrast to the dirty streets it overshadows. Cloud hates this part of the city; he hated it even more back when he lived six streets away. Barret and he passed close to his old house—the Fairs' old house—on their way to the HQ. Cloud isn't sure what he had expected. For the charred ruins to still be there maybe; of course, a new house stood in its place. His stomach had churned, his heart had twisted, but his feet had kept on moving. If Barret had seen his discomfort, he hadn't let it know.

The man in question walks ahead of Cloud, focused on his goal. Conversation hadn't flowed on their way here, not that Cloud would have liked it to. The tension between them has always been high, and now even more so since Biggs' death. It was Wedge who told Barret about the details. Now, Barret's permanent glare only grows more pronounced in Cloud's presence. Honestly, it surprises Cloud still. Of all the people in Avalanche, he'd have thought Barret would be the more understanding of his choice. Then again, the man seems to have an undying grudge against him.

"How many do you see?"

Barret's words synch Cloud back with reality. He tilts the brim of his cap the slightest amount, enough to observe the area properly. Only one soldier at the entrance. But Cloud knows this place; he used to cause trouble for those soldiers, acting out in petty revenge for the way his life had gone.

"There's always someone watching the way to the parking. And then soldiers at the rear entrance. Probably five or so overall."

Cloud readjusts his cap to hide his hair. Shoving all the messy strands underneath took too much time, but it was better than dyeing his hair for anonymity. Barret wears sunglasses, hoping to mask his features. Cloud thinks it looks anonymous-movie-star ridiculous coupled with the cap, but he keeps it to himself. It's not like he'll look any better once he raises the neck gaiter to hide his face.

"We'll have to act quick." Barret frowns as the soldier standing guard uses a keycard to get inside the HQ. "Seems we're down to four."

Barret signals at him to get ready. They keep their heads down as they round the corner of the alley leading to the parking. It's barely big enough for a military van, but the HQ is more of an office, not an actual station or jail. There are still a few holding cells for short detainments or transfers. Cloud avoids the strategically placed cameras out of habit. The neck gaiter conceals most of his features, but he'd rather they just didn't get him on camera. Not that he thinks that's a real possibility. After today, he'll need to lie low for a while.

The first soldier sits on an upturned bucket, his attention on the newspaper he holds. The second he lowers it, he'll see Cloud and Barret approaching. It doesn't come to that, as Barret sneaks behind the man and traps him in a chokehold. Before the soldier can alert others, Barret snaps his neck with a sharp move. He lets the body fall to the ground, not giving the dead man a glance. Neither does Cloud as they advance towards the parking and rear entrance.

Voices ring from the back; laughter and curses in between crude jokes. Cloud takes out his knife and pulls the blade out. Barret grabs the silenced gun holstered under his jacket and steps into plain sight. Cloud swears under his breath, having expected a cue. He follows Barret who already shot down the two soldiers on watch before they could act. Out of the two left, one soldier runs for the door; the other dives behind a car, weapon in hand. Cloud ignores the latter. He races for the other, catching up right as the soldier is about to swipe his keycard. Cloud seizes the man's wrist, twisting harshly to get him to drop the card, and sweeping his feet from under him. The soldier falls, and Cloud stabs down into his neck, slashing on the way out. Blood ripples out of the wound and flows into the pierced trachea. The soldier claws at his throat as he drowns in his own blood. Not a nice death. There's a moment where Cloud's mind plays a trick on him, and it flashes back to the night at Rise. To Biggs' begging and Cloud's knife poised to end the man's life. Cloud exhales, expelling the memory. It won't do any good to reminisce right now.

"Get back."

Barret's command has Cloud step away. He glances at the car where the other soldier hid; all he sees is a pool of blood leaking from under it and a discarded gun next to an inert hand. Barret fires a round, putting the last soldier out of his misery. Barret grabs the keycard lying next to the body with a gloved hand and swipes it through the reader. The light turns green and the doors slide open.

Too easy, Cloud thinks when they walk inside and there is no one to meet them. Maybe their plan worked too well and Shinra mobilized forces from all Sectors to go help with the bombings in Sector 2. He hopes that's it though he doesn't like Tifa and Jesse being in more danger than necessary.

He taps on Barret's shoulder. "The cells must be on this floor," he whispers.

Barret nods and raises his own neck gaiter so it rests higher on his face. They take a couple of steps into the hallway, stopping when the first holding cell becomes visible around a corner. Cloud hears voices and ringing phones further down the hall, meaning the main area must be near. There's no way to get a visual from this angle.

One prisoner spots them, her head jerking back at the sight. She blinks, her disbelief clear, before snapping out of it. She raises a hand, showing one finger, and mouths 'one'.

"One soldier," Cloud tells Barret.

"I saw."

It takes a lot out of Cloud not to roll his eyes. "I'll take care of it. You go for the cells."

He leaves his cover before Barret can protest, finding the soldier easily enough. He stands with his back to Cloud, only a meter away from the cell detaining the woman. Cloud lunges, knife forward, and drives it into the soldier's kidney; his free hand comes up to cover the man's mouth, muffling his cry of pain and tugging his head back to expose his neck. Cloud gives the knife a hard twist before pulling it out and thrusting it into the side of the soldier's neck, then jerking it forward to amplify the damage. Blood gushes out of the large cut. The soldier had raised his arm, shock baton in hand—Cloud hadn't even seen him draw it out. A mistake he remedies by turning the knife around into a reverse grip and stabbing into the crook of the man's elbow. The baton clatters to the ground, but no sound of pain escapes the soldier. Cloud wrenches the knife out, and the soldier collapses.

Cloud leaves him there, face down into a puddle of his own blood, and turns towards the holding cells. Six faces stare at him, two per cells. The woman from earlier grins wolfishly.

"Nice kill," she says, her voice hoarse.

It doesn't faze Cloud. "Thanks."

Barret is already working on unlocking the cells with the stolen keycard; Cloud lets him do it and keeps watch. There's no doubt in his mind that the cells opening will alert the other soldiers. The last door slips open right as they hear pounding footsteps.

Cloud unzips his jacket, reaching for the gun Barret gave him, but he hesitates at the last second. He's not very comfortable with firearms, only having used them to survive when he could scavenge some. But that was a long time ago, and he's afraid to do more harm than good now. He lets his hand drop back to his side, deciding that this could be a good time to test his ability instead.

"Stay close to us," Barret calls to the freed prisoners.

He goes at the rear of the group while Cloud takes up the front. The woman comes to stand next to him. "I can help," she says.

He doesn't have time for this. "Do whatever the hell you want."

The woman's answer is a chuckle. Two soldiers appear at the end of the large hallway, three meters away. Cloud gets ready to incinerate them—it's like the candles but bigger he tells himself—but Barret's pinpoint shooting makes quick work of them. Next to Cloud, the woman lets out a near maniacal laugh and runs for the discarded rifles; she seizes one and crosses into the next room.

"Get moving!" Barret yells at Cloud.

It spurs Cloud on, and he takes off after her. About seven soldiers are standing in the main area, and two lie on the floor. The woman fires with little accuracy, but the automatic rifle allows for less precision. Cloud runs to the nearest soldier and grabs his neck, slamming his head down on the desk. Burn, Cloud thinks, burn, burn, burn. A liberating awareness courses through his body as the soldier goes ablaze and scream. The fire engulfs them both, but Cloud doesn't feel it; it's like his power is part of him, _truly_ a part of him, and its use is natural. He doesn't dwell on it, but the realization frees the restraint he held over himself, and the fire dances in his palms.

Cloud lets go of the burning man in time to see a soldier aiming her handgun at him. He ducks behind the desk as she pulls the trigger, barely avoiding the bullet. He waits for a beat and moves to the edge of his cover, leaning forward a little to check if the way is clear. Another bullet grazes his hair and lodges itself in the wall behind him. Cloud swears under his breath. He can't spot Barret and the woman from where he is, but the other people they freed are crouched behind a big desk in the far corner. If the soldier walks around to find him, she'll see them. Taking a deep breath, Cloud concentrates on overheating the soldier's gun as he springs to his feet, swerving around the desk to get on her right side. He sees her aim, finger poised to pull the trigger; if this doesn't work, she'll hit him. Cloud gives his power a burst, pushing the heat of the gun as high as he can imagine, right as she goes to fire—but the heat made the powder ignite prematurely and the gun bursts in her hands. She screeches, and Cloud uses the distraction to run to her. A precise swipe of his knife and she collapses, her screams morphing into pained squeals and bloody gurgles.

When Cloud turns around to face the room, Barret is dispatching the last soldier with a blank-point shot. The woman pants, the rifle hanging low in her hands. Barret's gaze sweeps the room for any unwanted casualties, and Cloud takes the second to breathe. The whole thing didn't take two minutes, and yet he is drained.

The telltale noise of footsteps cascading down the stairs alerts them all, and Barret yells at them to move outside. That was always the plan, anyway, and Cloud brings the rear, herding their group towards the entrance. Barret sweeps the keycard to open the door, and everyone but the woman rushes outside. She stays, rifle ready and pointed at the stairs, finger on the trigger. When the first soldier comes into view, she fires. It allows Barret to take the gasoline bomb out of his pack and set fire to the cloth wick.

"Get back!" Cloud shouts at the woman.

But she doesn't hear him or doesn't listen. Barret doesn't wait—he throws the bomb, his aim true. It hits the floor right in front of a desk filled with papers; flames burst out, igniting everything they touch. Cloud takes a deep breath and concentrates on spreading the fire all around the room and intensifying its strength. Screams resonate through the air, and he opens his eyes, expecting to see the soldiers burning. They are, but it's the woman who cries out the loudest. Flames lick her clothes, her skin. His ability spiraled out of control and the fire overwhelmed the room; it crawls up the wall, about to swallow the whole building.

"Get out of there!"

It's Barret's voice, but Cloud doesn't heed him. His feet act before he can think it through, propelling him into the inferno. The searing heat ripples through the air, but it's nothing more than a discomfort to him. Not to the woman, though, and he focuses on pushing the flames away from her.

"Come on," he says as he takes a hold of her arm and swings it over his shoulder to help walk.

She groans, and her head lolls forward, but her feet cooperate. The fire gives them a wide berth while they head for the exit. It takes a lot of concentration out of Cloud to maintain the fire at a distance, and as they near the door, his control fails him. The blaze surges at their back, making the woman shriek. Cloud sprints through the entrance, sagging under the woman's weight. She whines as he carries her away from the building and lays her on the sidewalk. The burns she sustained aren't as bad as he expected, but they still need medical attention.

Cloud turns around to face Barret and sees he has closed the door; he holds the EMP Cid built in his hand. Barret nods at Cloud before using it. In the split second it takes for the pulse to radiate, Cloud hopes Cid wasn't wrong and the electric locks are fail-secure so the doors will stay shut. Nothing seemingly happens, and Cloud holds his breath, releasing it when someone bangs against a window. Cid's plan worked. They trapped the soldiers inside.

They can't relax, though. Cloud crouches down next to the woman; the guilt hits him in a hard wave at the sight of her burns. Yeah, he managed some control, but he still slipped. He can't leave her here.

"I'll help her. Go."

Cloud startles at the voice and raises his head. One bystander kneels at the woman's side. The stranger is already gathering the woman in his arms with unparalleled gentleness. Cloud opens his mouth to say he'll help, too, when sirens wail not too far away, deciding for him. With one last look at the woman, he stands up and runs too Barret.

"We need to leave."

Barret ignores him, shaking a can of spray paint and pointing it at the HQ's wall. He goes to paint what Cloud guesses is the Avalanche logo but stops at the last second.

"You do it," he tells Cloud.

As he takes the can and quickly draws the logo, Cloud tells himself that part of the reason he does it is so they can leave as fast as possible, not because he truly belongs with Avalanche. The thought feels slimy, unwanted, leaving a bitter aftertaste. Once he's done, Cloud hands the spray paint back to Barret and sprints towards the side street they designated as their escape route. Barret's heavy footsteps follow.

They've almost reached it when the reinforcements show up, encircling the HQ. The side street is still in reach, and neither Cloud nor Barret slow down. A yell to get out of the way catches Cloud's attention. He twists his neck to catch sight of what's happening, and his heart jumps in his chest when he sees the bystanders blocking the way to help them flee. He decelerates to a jog without realizing it, the urge to turn back engulfing all rational thoughts.

"Come on!"

Barret grips Cloud's arm and tugs him forward, forcing him to settle back into a sprint. They burst into a semi-busy street but keep up the pace as they head in the direction of a hideout, pushing people out of their path. Without warning, Barret crosses the one-way street ahead of what they planned, and an incoming car screeches to a halt to avoid hitting him and the idling car right in front. Cloud's momentum doesn't allow him to stop or slow, and he slides on top of the car's hood, ignoring the driver's shouted obscenities.

After some twists and turns, they enter a neglected area with fewer residents. Boarded-up houses line the streets. Too late, they spot the patrolling soldier yelling at them halt, radio in hand; word of what they did spread. The soldier leaps in their way. Cloud grabs his knife, leaving the blade folded, and speeds up past Barret, running straight into the soldier and bringing them both to the ground. Cloud rolls them over until he's on top, flicks the knife open, and stabs down into the soldier's neck. There's no finesse to it, only urgency. Cloud doesn't check if the soldier's dead; he gets back up and goes after Barret who didn't stop.

Finally, they reach a secluded street and turn into an alley. Barret comes to a halt at a back entrance and takes out a key; the door slides open without a squeak, and they both slip inside. They stand still and silent for a few minutes, waiting to see if they were followed. When no sound comes from the alley, Cloud's shoulders sag, the adrenaline draining away.

"Let's go," Barret says as he climbs the stairs.

Cloud follows into a shabby apartment; the door locks behind him. Barret heads for the next room, but Cloud walks up to the partially sealed window, checking the street for the military. He watches until Barret emerges wearing new clothes.

"Any signs?"

"Not so far," Cloud says, pushing away from the wall. "When is Wedge picking us up?"

"Shouldn't be too long. He was on standby nearby."

Cloud goes to change, shoving his stained and singed clothes into a duffel bag. He shoulders it and debates exiting the room, but that would mean waiting with Barret, so he sets the bag down and slides down against the wall until he is sitting. His head falls back, and he closes his eyes, taking the time to relax.

His mind strays as the minutes pass, and he thinks of the bystanders who blocked the way to facilitate their escape. To imagine what happened to them is not pleasant, but Cloud forces himself to do it. He made the decision to stay—now he can't shy away from the consequences of his actions. It surprises him how easy it is to let himself be swept up into Avalanche. He guesses this is part of the reason they do it, this sense of accomplishment, of pride, of doing something _right_. There's a bitterness to it, though, when he thinks of Aerith and the Captain and Reno. Of revenge and anger and self-served justice. It's a precarious balance, and he knows that without an anchor, he would stumble and fall.

A knock on the doorway brings him out of his head, and he gets to his feet, grabbing the duffel on the way out. Barret doesn't talk as they head outside through the same door. At the mouth of the alley, Wedge waits inside a car.

"How did it go?" Wedge asks as they slip in. He pulls away from the curb.

Barret answers, but Cloud tunes them out. He checks his phone; no messages from Tifa, not that he thought there would be. Still, it would have been reassuring to hear from her. For a moment, he considers looking at the news to see how things turned out on her end but chooses not to. He prefers waiting until they get back to 7th Heaven, even if the anxiety crawls its way into his throat.

The way back goes without a hitch; they cross through Sector 5, far enough from the HQ that security isn't as tight. They slip through the checkpoint with an ID check that makes Cloud even more nervous—but the soldier only gives theirs a quick glance and allows them to continue.

It's getting dark when the bar comes into view. Cloud's apprehensiveness exponentiates as they walk in to the usual crowd. Behind the bar, the mean old woman—Sylvie, he reminds himself—and Yuffie serve the few customers. No sight of Cid or Tifa; Cloud shoves his hands in his jacket's pockets to hide their shaking.

"About time, I need help," Sylvie yells at Barret. "This one is useless."

Yuffie scoffs as she fills a glass with beer. It overflows, and she lets out colorful curses. "I'm _trying,_ you old hag. _"_

Cloud waits near the stairs as Barret goes behind the counter to mediate. Wedge walks straight past him with a simple nod, and heads into the back store, probably going into the meeting room. Cloud tries his best not to let Wedge's aloofness get to him, but it does—he hates how much it does. A constant reminder of what happened to Biggs, it plucks at the strings of his guilt. And Cloud wagers it must be similar for Wedge; to always be reminded of your friend's death by facing the man who ended his life. It's not that Wedge is angry at Cloud—no, after the initial shock, he made this very clear, and Cloud only wishes the statement would have assuaged his tempest of regrets. When Wedge even thanked him for not letting Biggs suffer, Cloud tasted vomit in his mouth, and he nodded because talking was out of the question.

A commotion catches his attention, and he glances at the bar where Yuffie dropped an empty glass.

"I quit!" She whines as she throws down her rag and walks around the counter.

To Cloud's surprise, Barret doesn't comment and goes to get a broom to clean up. It's only once Yuffie stands in front of him that Cloud realizes what is going on.

"You took your sweet time," Yuffie says, arms crossed to showcase annoyance. It's the shine in her eyes that gives her away.

It tugs at Cloud's heart to see her like this, worried and edgy and powerless, afraid they wouldn't come back. Despite her dramatics and infuriating attitude, he can't pretend he hasn't come to like her.

"Sorry." He ruffles her hair, ignoring her protests.

Yuffie swats his hand away. "Don't apologize, it's weird."

Cloud smirks, but Barret's sudden appearance cuts his reply short.

"Let's go downstairs," Barret tells them.

Yuffie twists on her heels and walks into the back store. As Cloud goes to follow, Barret lays a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place. Cloud turns his head to look at him, eyebrow raised.

"Yeah?"

Barret clears his throat. "You did great. Now," he adds, voice loud, "come on." He removes his hand and gestures at Cloud to follow him.

Cloud hides his shock as they go down the stairs and into the meeting room. Barret, praising him? Surely the man isn't in his right mind. And yet—Cloud knows it's genuine. Barret doesn't say nice things for the hell of it. When Cloud enters the hidden room, the wave of accomplishment and pride hits him all at once, furthered by Barret's comment. He's the last one to enter, and he still has a foot on the step when he halts to watch the people surrounding him.

There's Barret and Cid on his right, discussing something with wide and cocky smiles; Wedge across from him, serving the drinks; Yuffie and Jesse laughing in the corner. And there's Tifa, leaning against the far wall, drink in hand, a tiny smile curling her lips as she listens to the other girls. Cloud freezes, eyes on her; he rides on the high of victory and the yearning to be alone with her, to just _be_ with her, swells until he thinks he might choke on it.

"Here you go."

Wedge's words snap Cloud back into reality, and he accepts the drink with a muttered 'thank you'. When he looks back at Tifa, she stares back, eyes glittering and smile mischievous. It's the way she looked when he first kissed her, and he hungers for more.

"We're all here. Good," Barret says. "To our headway. To us. To freedom."

Scattered across the small room, they all raise their glasses. The echo of Barret's toast resonates. Cloud's tongue stumbles at first, like it doesn't want him to be part of this, but in the end, he says the words with the others. It feels good to do so, and he allows himself to enjoy the moment for once. Doesn't he deserve it as much as them all?

Wedge lifts his glass again, and a hush falls. Everyone knows what is coming next. "To Biggs." His voice cracks. "I wish he could have been part of this. He would have loved it."

Jesse wipes stray tears. "To Biggs." She downs her drink.

As the others follow, Cloud hesitates. A short nod from Tifa catches his eye, and he lifts the glass. "To Biggs," he whispers. The alcohol burns his throat.

The celebration doesn't last long. Though it doesn't always seem like it, they have jobs to do; the bar won't run by itself, and the evening crowd will turn up soon. Still, they enjoy their short respite, and Cloud watches from his spot near the stairs. It's not that he doesn't want to take part. But it seems final, to join in, like he won't be able to come back. He reminds himself that he made his choice—but choosing to stay is one thing, considering himself a member of Avalanche for good is another. The divide might be imaginary, but it makes a difference to him. And Cloud can't forget the threat of Shinra; what they did won't go unpunished. Maybe that's why Avalanche is celebrating—because they want to forget, and they know they won't have another chance for some time. The realization shades the scene in bittersweet colors.

One by one, they go back upstairs. It starts with Wedge and Jesse, walking side-by-side; Yuffie goes after, already grumbling about returning to work. Then, Barret and Tifa, talking in hushed tones; Cloud's eyes linger on her as she brushes by, but her focus doesn't waver from Barret's words. In the end, it's only Cid with him. The door slides closed, and Cloud counts to four before Cid speaks.

"How you doing, kid?"

Cloud detaches from the wall and puts down his empty glass on the table. "Okay."

"Could be better?" Cid tips his chair back.

Cloud shrugs. "Probably."

"I didn't think you'd still be here by now," Cid says after a beat of silence.

Coming from Cid, the statement surprises Cloud. "You're the one who got me here."

Cid smirks. "Don't take me wrong, kid, I'm glad you stayed. I just hope you're ready for the shitstorm that's coming."

Cloud fiddles with his glass, eyes down. He can tell Cid the truth—that he doesn't feel ready, that he's only got one reason to stay, and he hopes it's enough.

"I'm ready."

The lie tastes sour.

—

It's midnight when Cloud returns to the apartment. He doesn't even bother turning on the lights, navigating the place by heart. He takes a shower and goes through his nightly routine on auto-pilot; the day drained him. After talking with Cid for a while, they went back to the bar. Cid drank and socialized, but Cloud mostly sat on a couch and observed the crowd, not much in the mood to party. He played a game on his phone at some point, but eventually, the noise became too much, and he left. He said goodnight to whoever he crossed paths with—Tifa had been nowhere to be seen.

His room is dark and cold, and he sighs, the exhaustion catching up to him. His movements are slow as he changes into sweatpants to sleep. When the door to his room opens, he startles, not having heard anyone come in. Cloud twists around, t-shirt in hand, to see Tifa leaning against the now-closed door. She stands barefoot in the same outfit as earlier, not having changed to work. It's the sparkle in her eyes that catches Cloud's attention, and his tiredness evaporates.

"You did it," Tifa says, mouth quirked up in a half-smile.

The pride in her voice warms Cloud, and he takes the few steps between them until they are inches apart.

" _We_ did it," he answers because it's true. They're in this together—it's been this way for a while, but for the first time, it feels real.

Her hands reach up to his neck; she leans up on her toes; her eyes close, hiding the sparkle that liquefied to heat—Cloud sees it all as if in slow-motion before time fast-forwards and she's kissing him— _finally_ , fucking finally, he's been craving this. His mind jumbles, and he relinquishes all logical thoughts.

The shirt he was holding falls to the floor. Tifa lets out what might be a chuckle as he tugs her shirt out of her skirt, but it ends in a sigh when he strokes his hands along her ribcage.

"Find something funny?" He mumbles against her lips.

"Maybe," she says before twisting them around. The move is so quick, so smooth, that Cloud can't react. His back hits the door; he laughs, and the bright sound makes Tifa smile as she yanks her shirt over her head. It hits the floor somewhere, but Cloud doesn't notice, too busy taking her in. The lights from the street halo her in colors. His breath catches from the sight and the moment, from the realization of what's happening and what it means. He pulls her closer and kisses her, tilts her head back and bites her lip.

Tifa's hands drift down his chest to the waistband of his sweatpants, and Cloud hisses when she pushes them down. Her kisses wander down his neck and lower still.

"Tifa…" He captures her face between his hands and lifts it so she's looking at him. "Last time, you—"

She shushes him with a kiss. "It's fine. It doesn't matter."

Cloud breaks away the smallest amount. "No, it does. It's my turn to make you feel good. Let me."

Her lips brush his when she answers, "I like making you happy," and he can't find the words to object anymore as she slides down his body and unto on her knees. When she takes him in her mouth, his hands frame her face and clench in her hair, and his head falls back against the door. Cloud curses, breathes out her name. Eyes half-open, he watches her, and the first time Tifa's gaze seeks his, he involuntarily pulls her hair; the pleased sound she makes has him do it again.

His pants echo in his ears, mixing with the sweet noises she makes and the racket of the bar downstairs. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—Tifa… fuck, baby," he groans when she lets him slip across her tongue and out of her mouth to scatter wet kisses along the length. He feels the caress of her soft laughter on his skin.

Tifa wraps her mouth around him again, and it becomes too much as she takes him harder, deeper. His hips jerk in uncontrolled, shallow thrusts, and his fingers tighten in her hair, giving it a rough tug without meaning to. Her eyes lock with his, letting him know it's all right, as she moans in answer. The sensation tips him over the edge—he makes to move away, but Tifa doesn't let him. His pulse drums hard in his throat as he comes.

"Oh, fu—uck, Tifa… f-fuck," he rasps, sagging against the door as she releases him. Cloud takes a moment to even out his breathing before opening his eyes to see Tifa rising. She stands, close but still too far; nervousness took sudden hold of her, and Cloud refuses to allow it to grow.

"Come here," he whispers, his voice hoarse.

She doesn't react, not immediately, and he draws her flush against him. One of his hands comes up to grasp the back of her head, forcing her to hold his gaze as his other hand bunches up her skirt. His fingers slip past her underwear to find her wet and warm; she whimpers at the contact and cries out faintly when he pushes inside her. Tifa clutches his shoulders to hold herself upright—her legs tremble and her eyes became hazy as his thumb strokes her clit and his fingers thrust into her. It takes seconds for her to come on his hand with a husky moan. Cloud leans forward a little, just enough to rest his forehead upon hers. He lets her ride her orgasm, fingers gently brushing against her until she whines from the overload of sensations.

"Fuck… you _do_ like pleasing me," Cloud says, a hint of surprise in his words.

His meaning doesn't register with Tifa straight away—her cheeks redden when it does, but she keeps silent. He smiles.

"So fucking hot," he murmurs before kissing her. His arms wrap around her, holding her tight against him.

Tifa's self-consciousness melts as their kisses turn unhurried, gentle. With a slight push, Cloud guides them to the bed. He sits against the sofa cushions serving as a headboard and drags Tifa in between his legs. He undresses her, slowly and lazily, kissing and biting down her neck, her shoulder. She sighs in his ear, her fingers a light caress on his jaw.

They both jump when the crash resonates from the street, followed by shouts. Cloud cranks his neck back towards the window to check what's going on. The view from his room is minimal, but it's enough to understand—a group of people swamped the street down from 7th Heaven and picked a fight with nearby soldiers. What they heard was the smashing of glass; a guy stands with a baseball bat near a military vehicle with broken windows. On the wall behind him, someone painted _KILL THE BUTCHERS_ and drew an X over an advertisement featuring Rufus Shinra. Cloud turns away as the mob sets fire to the vehicle and beats the soldiers, but Tifa continues watching.

"It's happening," she says, awe in her voice.

"The plan worked. They know we're here for them." Cloud runs a hand through his hair. "The attack on the HQ was a great idea to send the message."

Tifa tears her gaze away and stares at him. "We?" She ends up saying, careful and hopeful.

This 'we' isn't just Tifa and him, and Cloud knows it. This 'we' is Tifa and him and Avalanche.

"Yeah," he says. "We."

The moment he's said the word, she reclines on the bed, bringing him down over her. She kisses him hard, sucking on his tongue while pushing his sweatpants all the way down and off him. They lie crossways on the bed, Tifa's head close to the edge, but it doesn't appear to bother her as her movements become fevered. Cloud responds in kind, pulling her leg higher around his hips and kissing his way across her chest. A flash of logic has him grab a condom in the box resting on the nearest shelf. Tifa doesn't ask when he got them, and he doesn't care to explain that he didn't want a repeat of last time.

She exhales, the sound loud, when he sinks into her. Cloud buries his face in her neck; his thrusts are rough and urgent, and Tifa matches his rhythm. Her gasps and moans reverberate through the room, fueling him.

"Cloud," she breathes out, "Cloud—"

"Yeah, I'm here. I'm here, baby." He grabs both of her hands, holding them near her head, and intertwines their fingers. "Tifa, fuck, ah—"

His groans get lost in her skin, escalating in fervor. He fucks her into the night while the noises of revolution echoing from the streets meld into a song, and as it crescendos, Cloud thinks of how much he doesn't want this to end—and as Tifa sighs his name again and again, he wonders how long he's been in love with her.

—


	22. Chapter twenty-two

**A\N:** We're entering the last stretch! (hehehe)

—

 **THE STARS WE DREAMED OF**

—

22

—

"— _again yesterday. The riots keep escalating in Sector 5 and 6, so keep an eye out for heavy military presence. We've heard they'll be doing sweeps around 7 PM tonight in—"_

Tifa turns the pages of her notebook as she listens to the radio host. She barely glances at the pages, knowing what they say by heart; it's only a distraction for her whirring mind. It's been four days since the bombing and the attack on the Sector 4 HQ, but chaos has erupted over most of Midgard. Organized protests, violent riots, open fights with soldiers—Tifa's been monitoring the people's actions with growing hope and despair, a strange mix that causes her chest to constrict and her head to ache.

" _All right, folks, someone tipped us about a raid in Sector 4. No given time, but stay alert. Shout out to those who provide shelter!"_

The racket of the bar is muted in the Avalanche meeting room, but Tifa still catches echoes of tonight's rowdy crowd. She flips another page and sighs. The spread details what Barret and her call the Reactor plan—it has always been an end goal for them, to deactivate one Reactor powering Midgard to destabilize Shinra.

She raises her head at the sound of the door sliding open and heavy footsteps. Barret enters the room, his gaze seeking the radio resting on the table Tifa is sitting at. His eyebrows go up in a silent question.

"I like keeping track of what's happening," she says with a shrug.

Barret sits across from her. "Anything interesting?"

"Plenty. Not all of it good."

"Hm. That's to be expected, though." He rubs his beard. "It was always going to degenerate."

Tifa sighs and closes the notebook. "What's next, Barret? Are we still aiming for the Reactor? Or did you plan for something else?" As much as she tries to keep the bitterness from seeping into her voice, some of it still goes through. She knows Barret must have noticed, but he doesn't comment on it.

"About that… I've got some updates."

"Oh, yeah?" She leans back into her seat and crosses her arms. "What kind?"

"Good and bad. The biggest is that I found out how to deactivate the Reactors without causing a disaster. Cid told me."

Tifa allows the pause to grow. It probably makes Barret uncomfortable, but it's really just to allow her to control her irritation. When she speaks, her voice is calm, if a little cold. "And what did Cid say?"

"There's a control center in Sector 3. It's a place where they monitor the Reactors, but it's not attached to one."

"So if we destroy that…" Tifa frowns. "But if there's only one—"

He nods. "It's connected to _all_ of them. We can't choose which one we're shutting down."

"It makes sense, but how come?"

"Cid said it's a safety measure. This way, if something were to happen to the control center, nothing will go haywire and they avoid a disaster. Everything just shuts down."

"Okay… So how do we rebuild after?"

"It's possible, but it'd be a long process, and we'd need materials. They'd have to rebuild the entire circuitry from scratch."

"For which we need resources," Tifa notes. "Resources we don't have access to."

Barret keeps silent a moment, pensive, and she lets him gather his thoughts.

"Turning off the power will destabilize Shinra," he begins, "but also the entire population of Midgard. They're ready for this to happen, and though chaos will erupt, it'll be our only chance to act. If we wait too long, Shinra will just squash the protests and tighten the noose. People will be scared again; they won't feel like we're supporting them anymore. And Shinra is looking for us; it's only a matter of time before they find us."

Tifa nods, a little confused. This is a discussion they've had before, back when the plan was about disabling one Reactor. "Get to the point, Barret."

He rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward. "We should consider asking for outside help."

Tifa's head jerks back. "You've never said anything about that."

"Because back when I thought we could disable one Reactor, it wasn't needed. But if we leave the whole of Midgard powerless, things will spiral out of control. You know that as much as I do. We're too small to take control of the entire city." Barret frowns. "I'm not much of a fan of this, either. The other nations have let Midgard and Shinra do whatever the hell they want for decades—but Shinra has also made certain that outsiders know nothing of us by controlling all information coming in and out. Maybe they don't know the extent of Shinra's power; maybe they do but are afraid of speaking up. It doesn't matter in this situation—we _need_ help, whether we succeed or fail."

"And who would we ask for help? Midgard has been isolationist for such a long time that our foreign relations are almost nonexistent."

Barret points at an area south of Midgard on the spread-out map on the table. "Junon is our biggest trade partner and they stand to lose the most if Midgard crashes. They're nearby so chances are they would be here the fastest." His finger slides over the ocean. "I don't think Corel would lend immediate help, but they're known to offer asylum and to take in refugees when the time calls for it." He points further west. "But I think our best bet in the long-term is Nibel. They will be the most willing to see Shinra go." Barret makes a sweeping gesture over the map. "And those are only the big players. Which would you choose?"

Tifa doesn't take the time to mull over his question. She knows what he wants to hear.

"All of them. We can't afford to be picky."

He nods.

"Barret…" Tifa pinches the bridge of her nose. "What are we supposed to do, sit around and wait for them to contact us? Have you already reached out to them?" As she says it aloud, she knows it's true. "Why didn't you talk to me about it?"

Her question doesn't faze him. "Because the second I realized what needed to be done, I didn't have time to waste."

"So Yuffie knows about all this?"

"I only asked her to establish contact with other nations."

The discussion trails off as Tifa's uncertainty and irritation grow. She understands why Barret acted that way, why he told Cid and Yuffie parts of his plan first—but it doesn't sting any less.

"Kiddo, I know what you're thinking."

"Do you?" The words come out bitter.

"You made a bad call, yes, and Biggs lost his life. But that doesn't mean I don't trust your judgment now. You know why I spoke with Cid and Yuffie first; don't make this about yourself when it's not."

The muffled noise of the crowd upstairs drowns Tifa's sharp intake of breath. Barret's words are a slap, a reminder of her failures. She doesn't want to dwell on them at this moment so she gulps down the anger and the shame. _Whatever_ is what she wants to say, but she settles for something else.

"Just tell me what you're planning."

Barret only takes it in stride—not that she had expected anything else from him. "Cid is building the bomb as we speak; Wedge is helping him. Yuffie is trying to contact any nation willing to speak with us. If we can get help before we head out, good, but I'm not betting on that. I think it's only fair to issue some kind of warning to the people considering the scale of damage we'll cause-but we'd have to think that through." He shrugs. "We're changing target, but the plan stays the same. Most of us will stay outside to keep the soldiers out; I'll head in to place the bomb."

Tifa sits up straight. "Barret—"

"Don't argue with me on this."

She doesn't heed him. "I should do it. It'll be easier for me to get out. I'm the fastest."

"Yes, you are," he says, "but I'm not taking the risk. Tifa—" He adds, louder, as she goes to protest, "this is everything I've worked for. I will be the one to finish it."

Unable to argue with his last statement, Tifa pinches her lips closed in an effort not to speak. Her hands clench into fists on her lap, away from Barret's sight.

"This isn't a suicide mission, Tifa. I'm not planning on dying in there. But I won't ask any of you to risk it." Barret shakes his head. "I've always told you; when we fight for something, there's always a chance we won't see the outcome. That doesn't mean we should stop fighting. If my actions open the door for someone else to bring a true change, then I can't regret them no matter the consequences."

"You won't let me change your mind." It's not a question—she already knows the answer.

"It was always going to be me, kiddo," Barret says softly. "From the first day we talked about this."

Swallowing back the sudden onslaught of tears proves hard; Tifa manages a tense nod. It takes her a minute to compose herself before she can speak. "When are we doing this?"

"I'd like to head out two days from now. Three at most. We've let the dust settle enough. If we're not fast enough, the people will grow scared of Shinra again."

"What happens after?"

"Shinra will lock down Sector 1 and 2, I'm sure about that. They'll plan on the other Sectors self-destroying from chaos; they'll only step in when they think the tantrum is over. Which means we'll need to take charge. I wish we were bigger—it would help, but for now, we'll make do."

The idea that hits Tifa is stupid—she knows it is—but still, it grows into a possibility she can't ignore. Barret carries on with the details of the plan—supplies they must bring, key locations. It's not a surprise that he's ready to act, but there's always a little voice nagging Tifa that he should have done it with her. Which is why she keeps her idea to herself. Barret would probably agree while also refusing to act on it, labeling it too dangerous, too much of a risk.

"Tomorrow, we'll discuss this as a group," Barret says as he stands up. "I think it's for the best. I won't force anyone to come on this mission."

Tifa nods her agreement but stays in her seat. With a parting wave, he heads back upstairs, and Tifa releases a long sigh. She takes a second to debate with herself before going to sit at Yuffie's computers. They use one of them as a shared device, and she logs in on this one.

"Come on," she mumbles, scrolling through all the programs. She knows Yuffie has one for identification purposes. Not that Tifa thinks she'll succeed where Yuffie failed, weeks ago.

Finally finding the right application, she opens it. There are all sorts of criteria she can enter, but she only goes for the one that says 'name'. Tifa frowns as she types in VINCENT and all the results load. This was indeed a dumb idea, she decides as she takes in the thousands of results. Vincent is too common of a name. There's no way she can go through all of this in a timely fashion.

Tifa sprawls in the chair in defeat. She expected it, but it still stings. If she had a photo of him, Yuffie might be able to match—

She straightens in a jolt, remembering the time Vincent appeared on TV with President Shinra. There's a good chance the footage was archived somewhere, probably on the news channel's website. Tifa takes out her phone, sending a quick text to Yuffie, telling her to get her ass downstairs. It takes three minutes for her to appear with a scowl on.

"What's so urgent?"

Tifa gestures at Yuffie to sit next to her. "I have a job for you."

Yuffie complies with a suspicious glance.

"Is there a way you can find someone's identity through footage of them?"

"Like a facial recognition software?" Yuffie raises her eyebrow in surprise.

"I guess? You know I have no clue how these things work." Tifa waves her hand around dismissively. "If I provide a picture or footage and a name, can you find someone or not?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Yuffie drawls as she commandeers the computers. "Show me."

It doesn't take long for them to find the video of Vincent. Tifa watches it as it plays on mute, doing her best to ignore Yuffie's pointed stare.

"We watched that together. That time you guys were doing a kinky ritual. You hid something from me."

"Yes," Tifa admits. "I did because I figured it was best."

"But now you need my help so you'll tell me?"

"That's not—that's not what it is." Tifa sighs. "I made a mistake, or at least I thought I did at the time—I don't know if it was anymore. I wasn't sure if it was worth telling you until I saw that." She points at the video still playing. "Now—"

"Hey—" Yuffie speaks before Tifa can carry on. "You're not making any sense to me right now." She leans back in her chair, arms crossed, the picture of vexation.

"You're right, sorry." Tifa rewinds the video for a clear shot of Vincent. "This guy knows about us. And yes, before you panic," Tifa says as Yuffie's eyes go wide, "he works for Shinra, he's probably a Turk, and Barret knows. But he's also working _against_ Shinra, only he does it from the inside. He gave me information about Carrier abductions, and I got confirmation it's true not long ago. In any case, he might help us."

"Help us." Yuffie enunciates each syllable. "You think this Shinra dude is going to help us."

"He might. If I can find him."

"If—" Yuffie throws her hands in the air. "Are you serious?"

As her annoyance surfaces, Tifa's tone sharpens. "Will you help me or not?"

Yuffie stays silent for a moment. "Why do we need his help?"

"I'm not supposed to tell you, but…" Tifa rubs her forehead as a headache forms. "It might be worth a shot. Barret will tell everyone else tomorrow, but I need to act now."

She gets to her feet, grabbing the notebook she discarded earlier, even though she doesn't need it to explain the plan; Tifa knows she's stalling. As she sits back down, she hesitates, and Yuffie notices.

"Well?"

Tifa opens the notebook and starts outlining the plan. It's not a detailed explanation, but she prefers leaving the details to Barret. Once she's done, Yuffie's only reaction is to blink. Tifa tosses the journal on the desk, growing irritated with the lack of response.

"Say something," she grumbles.

"I'm speechless." Yuffie shakes her head. "I guessed Barret was building to something big when he asked me to contact other countries, but—this is a lot to take in."

"What do you think?"

Yuffie opens her mouth, but no words come out. She closes it, waits, then finally speaks. "I'm in if that's what you're asking."

"All right, but I want to know what you _think_."

As she answers, Yuffie turns towards her computers, starting on the process of finding Vincent's identity. "I'm not sure. It makes sense to want to destabilize Shinra and cutting off the power would do the job, I guess. But," she says with a side glance towards Tifa, "I have no idea how we will deal with the people after that. Especially if we don't manage to get outside help. I understand how it would have worked for one Sector, but for all of Midgard…"

"We'll have to focus on fighting Shinra and protecting the people. We won't be able to control all the Sectors, but if we can topple the Corp, we can expose Midgard to the world with foreign help." Tifa brushes away imaginary lint from her pants. "It's a gamble."

"Yeah, but with the citizens' safety."

"I'm aware. But we're at the stage where they're putting their own lives at risk by rioting and fighting Shinra. It's been non-stop since we attacked the HQ. If we do this, we have to do it now. And anyway," Tifa sighs, "this is why I want Vincent's help. I'd be surprised if he was working alone; if he can help us organize the people, give us access to resources, lend us manpower, it would give us an advantage."

"Yeah, I get it now. Well, here we go," Yuffie says as she runs the screenshot of Vincent's face through a software.

Tifa holds her breath as the program runs. What feels like an eternity later, it stops and shows three compatible results. Tifa's eyes scan past the first two to land on the last one.

"This one," she breathes out. "That's him."

Yuffie clicks on the profile to enlarge it. The photo of Vincent must be old, dating from a couple of years back. He appears to be in his late twenties, with longer hair tied back and thin-framed glasses perched on his nose. The profile reads VIKTOR VALENS, age 31, living in what Tifa knows is an industrial area of Sector 3.

"He looks gloomy," Yuffie says. "You sure he's gonna help?"

Tifa gets to her feet and walks towards the exit. "Nope."

Yuffie's answering sigh verges on dramatic. "Great. What are you gonna do?"

"Thanks for your help," is all Tifa says as she climbs the stairs, catching Yuffie's shouted "yeah, sure" right before the door slides shut.

"Help for what?"

A yelp escapes Tifa. She hadn't noticed someone was sitting in the only chair thanks to the back store's poor lighting, nor had she expected anyone to be there.

"Don't scare me like that. What are you doing here, anyway?"

Still sitting, Cloud shrugs. "On break."

Tifa can't help her frown, and it doesn't go past him.

"I promised to help wait tables tonight, remember?"

"Oh—oh, yeah. I forgot." She clears her throat. "When are you done?"

Cloud takes the last bite of his sandwich, eyebrows raised in question. "Why?"

She steps closer and jumps to sit on the table facing him. He leans backward in his chair.

"I need your help."

Cloud smirks. "What's new?"

She makes a disapproving sound. "So cocky." The short laugh he lets out pulls a smile out of her. "I got a lead on Vincent," she adds, doing her best to sound casual.

"Ah." Cloud crosses his arms. " _That_ kind of help."

"Actually, I just want to talk to him."

"Okay… What changed?"

Tifa flees his gaze, knowing what she'll say next is a cheap move. "You said you'd help me."

She hears him get to his feet, feels him standing in front of her, but she doesn't look at him, not yet.

"You're hiding something," he says, soft. "Is it because I wouldn't like it?"

Tifa levels her eyes on a point over his shoulder. "I'm just not sure how you would react."

"So what, you want my help without telling me the reason?" Irritation slips in his voice. "The other day you wanted to kill him, now you want to talk, and you expect me not to ask why?"

"Cloud—" She reaches out to touch his arm, but he takes a step back and buries his hands in his pockets. Tifa lets her arm fall back to her side. His rejection stings, but she knows she shouldn't let it get to her; she's the one who gave him a reason to by withholding the truth. In any case, she can't let this deter her. She needs to speak with Vincent tonight. "All right," she says, her tone cold so she can hide her conflicting emotions. "Well, I'm going either way."

Cloud's features go blank at her words. It takes Tifa a few seconds of silence to realize why; she goes to speak, but he cuts her off.

"That was uncalled for," he says, quiet.

"I didn't mean it that way," she replies just as softly.

His lips twist in a bitter smile. "You didn't mean to use my feelings for you against me? Didn't mean to tell me you're going off _alone_ to meet a Shinra agent who knows about who you are and what you do in the hopes I would change my mind?" He comes closer, leaning forward a small amount so she can't avoid his eyes. "I'm not stupid, Tifa, and I don't like being manipulated. You've done it enough for my taste."

Tifa jerks back at this. It's true she did, months ago when they needed to find someone willing to kill, when she exploited his guilt over Aerith's death to have him join Avalanche. There's a part of her that always believed he would never notice, never know. It made living with her choice to use him as an executioner easier. Her justifications freeze halfway in her throat, making it impossible to speak; she can't deny his accusation.

"I didn't care about that," Cloud carries on, "because you barely knew me then. Don't do it again."

The space he puts between them as he heads for the door allows Tifa to breathe. "I didn't mean it that way," she repeats. She can't find anger simmering beneath her skin, only disappointment at herself. Part of her was aware she was forcing his hand even though it hadn't been the reason for saying she was leaving without him.

Cloud doesn't turn around. "If you told me the truth, maybe I would know that." His hand rests on the doorknob, and from her spot at the table, Tifa sees the way his shoulders slump. "I'll meet you outside in an hour."

He exits the room, leaving her in semi-darkness. Tifa watches the door for a minute, wishing it to open again. It stays shut.

—

The ride to Sector 3 is tense and silent. Tifa stares into nothingness while Cloud busies himself on his phone. When he came to meet her outside the bar, she tried to apologize, to explain, but he wouldn't hear it. She can't blame him, not really. But now, anxiety builds in her chest, and she focuses on breathing in and out, in and out to avoid letting it take over.

They enter Sector 3 and Tifa gets to her feet, a wordless signal for Cloud to follow. The station closest to Vincent's supposed home is the first one on the edge of Sector 4. The train brakes brusquely then slows down, and Tifa reaches out for the nearest handhold to steady herself. Her hand lands on a pole over Cloud's. There's a second where she wants to snatch it back—but she leaves it there. Cloud's chest brushes her back as he breathes. Tifa squeezes his hand.

"Let's just work together tonight."

Cloud says nothing, but she hears his sigh.

"Please," she adds, a note of resignation in her voice. Of all people, she can't have him be mad at her. Not right now.

The doors slide open as Cloud replies, and she almost doesn't make him out. "You don't have to tell me."

They both step out of the train and head for the nearest exit. The streets are dark, only lit by spread out lamp posts and the faint light from the moon. Tifa walks toward Vincent's place, her internal map guiding her; Cloud follows behind. As they near their destination, she crosses the street so they can have a better view of Vincent's apartment.

"How are we supposed to know which one it is?" Cloud mumbles. He stops next to her and leans on the wall, hands in his pockets.

Though she won't admit it, he has a point. All the apartment buildings in this area look the same, an endless row of brownstone. Tifa locates what she thinks is the right one and counts the floors.

"Apartment 4-2. That should be on the fourth floor."

"And you trust that? If he's meant to be a ghost like Reno, what they write is bullshit."

"It's our only lead."

"So what, should we ring?"

"Let's wait a few minutes," she says, resting on the wall next to him. "I'm sure he'll check outside and spot us."

They both stay quiet as a few people pass them. Once they're far enough, Tifa speaks up again.

"I'm sorry about earlier."

"It's fine," Cloud says, dismissive.

His comment sparks annoyance in her, and she can't help the sharpness of her tone. "Look, I _am_ sorry. Take it or leave it."

"What's up with you tonight?" Like her, there is irritation in his voice, but he conceals it better than she does. "If something's bothering you, just say it."

Tifa opens her mouth, ready to fire back, to tell him that, yes, something is on her mind. To say she's not sure if Barret's plan is the right one, but it's been the end goal for so long that she doesn't know where else they can go anymore. To tell him she fears what will come after they plunge the city into chaos. But none of that comes out—if she voices her thoughts aloud, they'll become real and she's not ready for that yet.

Instead, she says, "I don't want to fight."

Cloud scoffs. "You've got a funny way of showing it." He leaves it at that, and she's glad for it because any more provocation and she would snap.

The noise of the city fills in the space between them as they wait. Five minutes turns into ten, and Tifa decides it's been long enough. Right as she considers going to ring, the lights in one of the fourth-floor apartments turn off. Cloud tenses up beside her. A minute later, someone walks out of the building, and even from afar, Tifa recognizes him.

Vincent doesn't glance their way; he walks in the opposite direction, his stride confident like he knows where he's going. Tifa starts trailing him. They keep a good distance away but don't bother to be too careful. Tifa can tell Vincent knows they're there as he leads them deeper into the industrial neighborhood.

"Where is he taking us?" Cloud mutters.

Tifa has no answer for him. She only keeps on shadowing Vincent.

Finally, he enters an old warehouse; the door is already half-open, and he leaves it that way once he's inside. Tifa waits a bit before going after him. It's almost pitch-black in the empty storehouse; her ears strain to identify every sound. As they go further inside, her eyes begin to adapt to the darkness. She hears Vincent before she spots him.

It happens quickly—Vincent steps from behind a corner, gun in hand. Tifa makes to get hers, but freezes, hands in the air, when she notices where Vincent is aiming; his weapon points at something behind her, and she knows the target is Cloud.

"Vincent—"

"Move and I shoot."

Tifa grits her teeth but keeps her hands steady. "We're here to talk. Put the gun down."

Vincent's head tilts to the side as if he's contemplating what she said. "Really? I know how fast you are, Tifa. You can draw and shoot, but I guarantee I'll have fired before you hit me. I'm a good shot."

"I'm not here to kill you."

"And I'm not taking any chances." Vincent shakes his head. "Why are you here?"

Tifa takes a deep breath. "What you told me about the Carriers—you were telling the truth." She keeps her conversation with the lieutenant to herself. "That tells me we can help each other."

"You already know I don't agree with your methods."

"Just hear me out at least." Her arms grow heavy. "Look, I'll give you my gun. I want you to trust me."

Vincent gestures at Cloud with his chin. "Tell him to disarm you. I'm staying here."

"Cloud, do it," Tifa hisses through clenched teeth.

It takes a few seconds before she hears movement behind her. Cloud comes to her side slowly; he unzips her jacket and reaches inside for the holstered weapon. Their eyes meet and Tifa gives him a don't-do-anything-stupid look. In answer, Cloud glares.

"Bad idea," he mouths. She ignores him.

Cloud swivels around and walks towards Vincent, handing him the gun. Vincent's own weapon stays steady, still aimed at Cloud. Tifa's breathing speeds up.

"Step back," Vincent tells Cloud as he takes her gun.

The atmosphere is taut as Cloud does. Once he's far enough for Vincent's taste, he turns to Tifa.

"What do you want?"

At last able to lower her arms, she does so unhurriedly. "How many people are working with you?"

Even through the darkness, she can see Vincent's distrustful expression. "More than you think."

"Okay. That's good."

"Good? What's _good_ , Tifa?" Vincent lets out a cutting laugh. "Why take the risk to come here after everything you've done? You know I could turn you in. I will if I need to."

"But you already have, haven't you?" His silence is enough of an admission for her. "I've had time to think about it—when I got arrested months ago, it was because they ran my ID and something unusual came up. And I'm sure my record was clean. Pretty big coincidence that I met you not long before, right?"

Vincent's smile is razor-sharp. "I needed to give them a lead if I wanted to stay on this assignment. Believe me or not, I was trying to protect Avalanche. And I did remove all traces of your arrest once you escaped."

"Thanks for that," Tifa says drily. "Being a Turk must be hard work."

"Tell me what you want. I don't have time to waste."

"I want your help when the time is right. You and everyone that works with you."

Vincent frowns. "What are you planning?"

It's Tifa's turn to give him a cold smile. "Can't say."

The shadows make it hard to tell, but she's pretty sure he rolls his eyes. "When will I know when to help if you don't tell me?"

"Oh, you'll know."

Her words echo in the emptiness of the storehouse. Vincent allows for the following silence to grow, but Tifa doesn't let it bother her.

"I'm making headway right now," he says quietly, "and I can't deny part of it is due to Avalanche."

"We _are_ working towards the same goal," Tifa lies. It's not fully true after all—Vincent doesn't seek the chaos Avalanche will bring.

At last, Vincent drops his weapon at his side. "What would you expect us to do?"

"Help in any way possible." She hates being vague, but she has to avoid letting details slip. "Could be resources, contacts, manpower—whatever will help. We're on the same side, Vincent. There's no reason we shouldn't help each other."

Vincent's sigh is loud as he holsters his gun. "You're planning on hitting Shinra hard, aren't you? And you're not enough to control the fall-out." At her silence, he laughs, then cuts off. "I'll see what I can do when the 'time is right'. But I can't promise more than that. My allegiance is to Midgard first, not Avalanche."

Tifa's shoulders sag. "It's better than nothing."

Vincent comes forward until he's standing in front of her. He hands her the gun; Tifa takes it with a mumbled 'thanks'.

"I'll call the bar the day after tomorrow to establish contact. Don't come looking for me like this again."

Tifa nods. "Thank you, Vincent."

"Don't thank me yet," he says wryly as he walks off the way they came in.

She waits for his footsteps to fade before facing Cloud. His features are tight, reflecting his anger; his silence lets her know the scope of it. She averts her eyes and heads for the exit.

"Let's go back."

Their trek back to the station is fast, and they don't wait long for a train to appear. Part of Tifa is glad for Cloud's wordlessness, but mostly she's vexed by his attitude. She rubs her eyes, fatigue creeping in. Maybe it's her fault—she's the one on edge since having talked to Barret. And it goes beyond that, she realizes; uneasiness has been building for a while, ever since the bombing days ago. This feeling of anticipation, of knowing Shinra is hunting them, of being conscious that time is running out—it seeped into her mind, influencing her emotions and actions. When the train stops at their station, Tifa is still lost to her thoughts, and she doesn't break out of them until they've crossed the threshold of 7th Heaven.

It's late and a weekday, so the bar has emptied quite a bit since they left over an hour ago. There are still enough patrons to monopolize Wedge and Sylvie's time; the older woman scowls at Tifa as she approaches the bar.

"Sorry," Tifa says. "I had something to take care of."

Sylvie's glower deepens, straying behind Tifa. " _You_ weren't the one who took off during work."

"It wasn't busy when I left," Cloud comments over his shoulder as he heads for the apartment.

Tifa bites her lip; she should have known. A strange mixture of displeasure and guilt takes over her, and she apologizes again to Sylvie before taking off after Cloud. He's removing his jacket as she comes in and doesn't bother turning to look at her.

Tifa discards her coat and hangs it up. "You shouldn't have left if you were still working." She keeps her voice even, not wanting to betray her emotions.

"Who the fuck cares about that?" Cloud's voice resonates, its harsh tone cutting through her. He falls back onto the couch and leans his elbows on his knees. "I don't. I care that you put your life—both our lives—in danger for what? An empty promise?"

"That's what you're mad about?"

"Yeah, I'm mad," Cloud snaps. "I'm angry you thought to go alone and I'm angry you didn't trust me." He deflates all of a sudden, the fight draining out of him. "A wrong move and he would have shot me. I wouldn't have been able to do anything." He rests his chin in his hand and diverts his gaze from hers.

"I wouldn't have gone if I wasn't sure it was worth it."

He sighs. "Why won't you tell me what changed your mind? Why do you suddenly trust him?"

Tifa bites her lower lip, aware that any more lying or avoiding will only make the situation worse. "I got confirmation about the Carriers being experimented on." Not wanting him to interrupt, she goes on, "And it's true we need help. We can't afford to wait anymore."

She goes to sit on the couch next to him. Cloud stays quiet as she explains Barret's plan, but his frown deepens as she goes on.

"And you think it's a good idea?" He asks once she finishes.

All the thoughts and emotions she pushed back tonight come forward; the mess they create makes it hard for Tifa to decipher her true feelings, but she does her best to put them into words.

"I don't know what to think anymore, to be honest." She falls back into the cushions. "The scale is a lot bigger than we always planned for."

Cloud snorts. "You could say that."

"But I know we won't survive at this rate. It's a matter of days—weeks at most—before Shinra narrows down on us. I'm not sure what else we can do to weaken them in the long run. And if we don't act, nothing will change." She pauses. "Everything we did, everything we gave up… It's selfish, but I don't want it to be for nothing."

"It'll be bad," Cloud says softly.

"Yeah. I know."

The noise from downstairs is faint by now, a background noise they barely hear. It fills the silence between them for a while.

Cloud shifts to glance at her. "How did you find out he was telling the truth about the Carriers?"

Tifa goes to speak, then closes her mouth, unsure if she should tell him. But her hesitation gives her away; she can see it in Cloud's eyes. "When I escaped from the bombing site—a soldier caught me. He asked me if we were helping Carriers, and he confirmed they're being experimented on."

Cloud stares at her expectantly. "And?"

"And nothing. We went our separate ways. He told me where to go to escape."

"You let him go?" He asks, disbelieving.

"I wasn't sure I should, but I think it was the right decision in the end."

He mutters something she can't make out, but she catches on the angry tone of it. Tifa chooses to ignore it.

"We'll talk more tomorrow, okay? I'm going to sleep."

She goes to move past him, only to stop when he grabs her hand.

"What is it?" She says while slipping her hands from his. It's not a rejection—but her aggravation from before hasn't completely faded.

If it bothers Cloud, he hides it well. "I'm sorry for how I reacted earlier. I knew you didn't mean it like that, but—" He blows out a breath. "The thought of you risking your life for that made me furious."

"I risk my life every day, Cloud," she says with gentleness to soften the reminder. "You know that as much as I do."

"Yeah, I do. But it's not the same, it's not—" He sits back into the sofa. "Whatever. It's fine."

But Tifa can't dismiss the troubled edge to his expression. "I'll do what I can to be more careful." When he says nothing, she leans forward to catch his eyes. "I promise, okay?"

She hadn't noticed before, but his breathing sped up, a sure sign of his agitation; that he flees her gaze is another giveaway.

"Hey, don't think about the what-ifs. It won't do any good."

His voice is strangled when he speaks. "I tell myself the same thing, but then I see _them_ and it's you instead, and—I don't know what I'd do, I really fucking don't," he ends in a whisper.

Tifa doesn't wait for his composure to slip more than it already has. She sits in his lap, straddling him, expecting physical contact to soothe him. Her hands slide over his shoulders; his skin is warm to the touch, even through his shirt.

"I'm here, aren't I? We both are."

Tifa frames his face between her hands and kisses him. She feels his intake of breath at her touch. He draws back, and her hands slide away.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I'm not—" He gulps and closes his eyes a second too long for a blink. "I don't want to hurt you."

A small smile curls the edges of her lips. "You won't hurt me," she whispers before pressing up against him and kissing him again.

She doesn't care, anyway.

His touch is warm, warmer than it ought to be, but she relishes it. She imagines it's what the sun feels like. The heat seeps through her skin, into her. His hands trail under her shirt and over her back, and she holds him closer until she can't breathe from the sensation. Even so, she doesn't pull away. She wants to burn.

 _I love you_ , she thinks, _I love you, I love you, I love you_.

The words blossom into her lungs, filling her insides with a truth untold until there is nothing else.

—

Barret scheduled the Avalanche meeting early in the afternoon. The bar is closed for the day, and Tifa can't help but think it might forever stay that way once they execute their plan. She's still on the fence about the plan; yesterday's doubts burrowed deeper into her mind until they corrupted her resolve to see this through. She agrees with Barret because disabling a Reactor has been the goal for so long that she knows nothing else. A part of her wonders if they're on the right track, bringing all this chaos to Midgard. But it's true the city needs to change at its core, and in a way, this would be like cleaning the slate.

Cid waits for her in the main room of the bar, chatting with Cloud and Yuffie. Tifa promised to accompany him while he goes back to his garage to gather supplies.

"I'm ready," she says as she nears the group.

Cid straightens away from the counter. "Let's go, then." He gestures at her to follow him as he walks for the door.

"Wait," Yuffie says before Tifa can take a step. "Did you find him?"

Tifa nods. "He's supposed to call the bar tomorrow to establish contact."

"So it worked?" Yuffie's eyebrows go up in surprise.

"We'll see."

Yuffie grimaces, but Tifa ignores her, turning to Cloud. "Do you need anything while I'm out?"

He shakes his head. "I'm fine, thanks."

Tifa gives them a parting wave before following Cid outside. They ride the train to his garage in Sector 3. Tifa waits in the break room while Cid gathers whatever he needs. It doesn't take long for him to come get her with a full backpack slung over his back.

"You got everything?" She asks as they head towards the exit.

"Yeah. I didn't want to leave it all behind."

The words stop Tifa in her tracks. "Cid, wait." She waits until he does. "What do you really think of Barret's plan?"

A frown forms on his face as he takes the time to ponder over his answer. "I think it's terrible and genius at once. I don't doubt it'll work to a certain degree, but the actual outcome will be hard to control."

Tifa bites her bottom lip. "I don't believe he wants to. Control the outcome, I mean," she adds at his questioning look. "he does, but he knows it's not doable on a big scale. I have a feeling he's expecting the people to decide where to go from there."

"Wonder how Shinra will react. No doubt they'll give us hell."

"I'm worried we'll make things worse," Tifa admits in a sigh. "I believed in his plan so much, I didn't question the changes to it. But the more I think about it, the more unsure I become."

"You told him that?"

She shrugs. "No, but I'd be surprised if he listened. It's been his end goal for so long."

"Well," Cid says with a clap on her back, "you still have time to discuss it before the meeting. Come on, let's head back."

Cid is the first to notice the crowd when they get to the train station, commenting on the unusually large number of people for the hour. As they walk unto the platform, Tifa realizes what's happening. She elbows Cid, gesturing to their left.

"Fucking hell," Cid whispers.

Less than three meters away, near the edge of the platform, is a mob of protesters. They stand close together with signs denouncing Shinra. Around them are four soldiers; one of them is engaged in a heated discussion with two protesters. His uniform marks him as an officer, and Tifa's heart skips a beat, thinking for a moment that it's the same lieutenant who let her escape. But then he turns his head, and she sees he is too old, his features pinched and cold. She releases a breath.

"Tifa," Cid says, his low voice a warning, "look around."

She had been too focused on the demonstration and the argument that she hadn't noted all the soldiers in the area. Her body goes taut as she counts them—she sees at least fifteen from where she stands. A glance at the departures screen lets her know the train is coming in a minute.

A shout startles the crowd; people move to get out of the way, pushing against each other. Tifa keeps her balance despite the sudden movement. It's a protester and the soldiers who had been confronting them; their talk degenerated, and the guy pushed him into the crowd. It takes seconds for the situation to get out of control, and soon a full-on fight breaks out between protesters and soldiers. The crowd jostles Tifa, and she does her best to steer away from the brawl. Another look at the departures screen; the train is coming. If they're lucky, they'll board before the military shuts down the station. She turns to warn Cid but can't spot him in the growing chaos.

It's that second of distraction that costs her. She doesn't see the guy and the soldier who started the fight get near her, doesn't realize they'll barrel into her until it's too late and they crash into her. Her only thought as she feels herself fall is that she was standing too close to the edge.

The impact of her body against the rails rattles her bones, and she hits her head. Tifa groans as she tries to sit up; the world spins around her, colors and forms blending together. Sounds are distorted, echoing from far away. Is that someone calling her name…? Why is it so bright—headlights, those are headlights—wasn't the train coming—the _train._

Tifa doesn't think. She moves.

Time seems to slow down as she gets to her feet and jumps to grab hold of the platform's edge to hoist herself over it. She rolls unto the platform right as the train flies past. Wind ruffles her hair, fills her ears—it's almost as loud as the beating of her heart.

There's silence for a moment, and then she hears the yell. It makes her realizes what she just did. Anyone else wouldn't have been able to move in time. Anyone else should be dead.

"Carrier!"

It comes somewhere from her right, but Tifa doesn't search for the source. She doesn't even run; instead, she stays as she is, paralyzed by the crowd surrounding her.

It's not like she wasn't aware people were afraid of Carriers, that they dislike them. Rather, it's that this same fear, this same hatred has never been directed at _her._ It roots her to her spot, renders her unable to think of a plan—of anything, really. People have given her a wide berth; some stare at her, a myriad of expressions reflected in their eyes; some look away as if sorry for her.

She doesn't understand why until someone slams her to the ground and wrenches her arms behind her back—there were soldiers, fuck, how could she _forget_ the soldiers. Something stings her neck and Tifa cries out in surprise. Too late, she feels the metal of the handcuffs over her wrists. She goes to move, not caring about exposing herself more, but to her shock, her movements are sluggish, unnatural— _normal_. She tries again, wrestling to push the soldier off her back; he gets annoyed and moves, jerking her to her feet at the same time. Tifa's breathing hitches as she realizes what the sting was—they injected her with mako.

In front of her is the officer she mistook for the lieutenant. He watches her impassively as he gives orders to whoever is holding her upright. Tifa doesn't hear them; there's so much noise, it overwhelms her until panic grips her by the throat, and she thrashes around in an attempt to pull her arms from the soldier's grip. The sudden appearance of a gun pointed at her face makes her freeze. At once, all she is aware of is her loud breathing and the officer's icy smile. It hits her that if she makes a wrong move, he'll shoot her. It'd be over just like that, and she thinks of Aerith, shot point-blank by the Captain. The terror that clogged up her throat overflows, and tears streak down her cheeks. She doesn't want to die, fuck, she can't, she can't, she—

The officer seems to grasp her thoughts; his smile widens until it's all bared teeth like an animal about to pounce on his prey. "It appears you don't want to die yet." His comment is casual, bordering on friendly. He gestures at the soldier behind her. "Take her in."

As the gun lowers, Tifa makes out Cid's stricken expression among the crowd of onlookers. Before he can make a scene, she shakes her head with as much subtlety as she can, hoping he will listen to her. Relief streams through her as he stays where he is; it's all she sees before she's dragged away and he vanishes from her sight.

The soldier yanks her toward the exit of the station, heading for a truck parked not too far away. It becomes all too real suddenly—if she boards that truck, she's not coming back, isn't she? Despite the officer's unspoken threat, Tifa digs her heels in the ground. The soldier hauling her grunts and jerks her forward by the arm, his strength trumping hers. In a last effort to get free, Tifa throws all of her weight backward, slamming the soldier into the side of the truck. He swears, his grip faltering for a second. Tifa wrenches her arm out of his hold, but before she can bolt, someone else grabs her. There's another sting, and this time her eyes droop and her strength fails her. She's unable to move as they heave her inside the truck, and their words sound far.

"Second Lieutenant Tseng said… to the Tower… registration…"

Shouldn't that mean something to her? She has a feeling it does, but—

The sedative they gave her makes the world go dark and her mind go blank.

—


End file.
